


Across the Desert, Upon the Wind

by hogwartswitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Curses, Djinni & Genies, Eventual Happy Ending, Fairy Tale Retellings, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Imprisonment, Johnlock Roulette, Kidnapping, Kissing, Licking, M/M, Magic, Middle East, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Quests, Shapeshifting, Shooting Guns, Soldiers, Tentacles, Tigers, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartswitch/pseuds/hogwartswitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out on a routine sweep in the desert, John and one of his teammates get lost in a sandstorm and end up at the foot of an enormous palace. They meet - and anger - a cursed prince who spares their life in exchange for John staying behind. But the prince has a secret and John soon discovers it, plunging himself in a quest across the desert fraught with danger.</p><p>Loosely based on the fairy tales "Beauty and the Beast" and "East of the Sun, West of the Moon".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One - The Palace

  
_Be brave, be clever, and be true to your heart._  
\-- Jackie Morris, _East of the Sun, West of the Moon_  


The night sky looked as though the gods had taken a handful of diamonds and scattered them across the heavens. The hard-packed desert floor stretched infinitely, meeting the horizon and becoming an enormous bowl of sky over the sand. A light breeze kissed the rocks, but otherwise the night was quiet for once. Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers crouched behind an outcropping of rocks, weighted down by his gear, and listened closely for sounds over the hush of wind. His night vision goggles gave the world an eerie green cast. Nearby, one of his teammates scanned the area for insurgents. Occasionally the silence was broken by the light static and chatter of John's radio, turned low so as not to attract attention. His other two teammates scouted the other side of the small corridor of rocky outcroppings they were sweeping. Though John normally appreciated night duty for its quiet stillness, tonight he wished he was back at camp, asleep. Earlier in the evening, he'd argued with his teammate and occasional bed-partner, James. The disagreement had been silly - a product of tension, homesickness, and sleep deprivation - but now John wished for time to himself.

"Hear that?" James's voice crackled in John's earpiece, his voice barely above a whisper.

John concentrated to listen beyond the light breeze of the desert. He picked up a deep rumbling from far away and felt a slight vibration beneath his feet.

"What is that?"

James appeared beside John, emerging from around one of the rocks. "I don't know. Check it out?"

John nodded and clicked his radio to transmit. "We're checking a possible disturbance. Watch our backs. Over."

Guns at the ready, John and James crept slowly out from the corridor where they'd taken cover. Their boots crunched against the sand as they walked carefully and kept an eye out for signs of disturbance. The farther they got out into the open, the closer the rumbling sounded. John pulled off his night goggles and blinked, squinting at the horizon. As his eyes adjusted, he could see a cloud of sand heading their way.

"It's a haboob." He said to James. "C'mon, let's go back."

"No, I see something else, don't you?" James had gone ahead of John and gestured at the cloud of sand roaring in their direction.

The sand undulated in a way John had never seen, traveling like the waves of the ocean. Beyond, he thought he caught something white glinting in the moonlight and stretching tall into the sky.

"What is that?" He asked, closing the gap between James and him.

James seemed mesmerized by the cloud. Rather than answer John, he continued heading towards the oncoming storm. John jogged lightly after him.

"We need to take cover before that hits." John said, pulling the kerchief he'd tied around his neck up over his nose and mouth. "Come on, James."

He put his hand on James's arm and tugged him back towards their other two teammates. James yanked his arm from John's grip and continued towards the sand storm.

"James!" John snapped. "Come on!"

Every effort he made to get James's attention was met with resistance. The next time John looked up, the storm was almost upon them. He pulled his goggles back on to protect his eyes and continued trailing after James.

The wind howled and whipped their hair, sharp grains of sand scraping across their faces and leaving behind chafed cheeks and wind-burnt lips. It was starting to get harder to walk forward. John gathered his strength and pounced, knocking James into a squat rock stuck in the sand. They tumbled and rolled to the ground, James grunting in surprise and frustration.

John was small, but stocky and well-built; he pressed all his weight into holding James down and crouching over him as he looked up at the dust storm about to hit.

"Close your eyes!" He shouted above the screaming wind. "And don't open your mouth!"

The undulating sea of sand seemed to rise up and pause for a moment. John could have sworn the dust formed itself into the face of a wild beast with enormous fangs, and then the mouth of the beast came crashing down upon them, swallowing them up in a dark vortex of shrieking wind and brutally blowing sand. John hunched protectively over James as the gale whipped at their clothes and threatened to rip them from the earth and send them flying into oblivion.

The dust storm left as quickly as it had arrived, the howl dying down once more to a soft breeze. John and James were both covered in a small hill of sand, which they shook off, spitting out the grains that had managed to get between their lips.

"What was that about?" John asked grumpily, beating at his uniform and releasing clouds of sand into the air.

"I... I don't know what came over me." James muttered.

John could see his friend's embarrassment, even in the darkness. Feeling guilty at his crossness, he reached out and patted James's shoulder. "No harm done, I suppose. Let's get back to base?"

John looked behind him, where the outcropping of rocks and - beyond that - his base should have been. Instead, the smooth expanse of desert continued to stretch out endlessly. Turning in a 360 degree circle, John took in their surroundings and realized nothing about them was familiar.

"Where the hell are we?" He said. "How did we get here?"

James, too, was swiveling his head, his mouth open slightly in surprise. "I don't know. Wait, what's that?"

Pointing to the east, James indicated a white shape rising into the desert sky.

"Looks like some sort of structure." John observed.

"We could go check it out, see if it could be shelter until we can contact the team?"

John agreed and they both set off in that direction. The distance proved deceptive and their trek took up much of the remainder of night. As they drew close to the structure, the sky was starting to lighten from deep indigo to a pale blue streaked with threads of purple and pink.

Before them, rising high above them, was an immense, white palace trimmed in gold and covered in elaborate turrets and domes. It sat in the middle of a calm pool of water and a set of steps led from the desert floor to a vast doorway. The air here was warm and scented with spices. Palm trees rustled in the breeze, but otherwise there was no other movements or sounds.

"Is this a mirage?" James muttered, his eyes transfixed on the palace.

"Got to be." John answered, even as he started climbing the steps to the entrance.

Their limbs ached from their hike across the desert. The crevices of their skin and clothes were caked with sand and their skin felt tight and dry. Both John and James ascended the steps, hoping this refuge was real - and safe. Drawing up to the door, John lifted a tentative hand and knocked, sending an echoing boom bouncing off the palace walls inside.

With a quiet creak, the door opened smoothly and seemingly of its own volition. John exchanged a glance with James and they both drew guns, returning to alert mode instantly. They entered slowly, sweeping their gaze around the palace entryway.

White marble floor with veins of gold running through it stretched out towards twin staircases that curved away from each other, only to meet in the middle of the balcony that ran the length of the second floor. Domed arches in all directions led to various parts of the palace. Through the arch to John's left he glimpsed a crystal blue swimming pool. To his right, an arch opened up into an enormous dining room with a long table. The table was loaded with sumptuous food: Fat melons cut in half and leaking juices, fig leaf dolma piled high on golden platters, bowls of pomegranates, cherries, dates, and other fruits adorned the corner of each table. Plates of nuts and dried fruits mingled with platters of juicy meat still on their spits. Bowls of spiced grains and cereals, as well as greens tossed with fragrant dressing and crisp chickpeas rounded out the table. On the opposite end, a tiered stand stood laden with Baklava, Halva, and other Middle Eastern desserts. Several bottles of wine rested on the table beside the desserts.

"Are you seeing this?" James asked.

John nodded, his stomach growling loudly as the smell of the food assaulted his nostrils. "I'm starving, what about you?"

He moved to approach the table, but James grabbed his wrist. "Do you think it's safe?"

John knew he was right, but he thought he might go mad with hunger if he didn't eat some of the feast before them. "Why would someone go to the effort of assembling this just to harm two soldiers?"

James still looked unsure, but he dropped John's wrist. "I suppose a few bites couldn't hurt...."

They took a seat across from each other and grabbed for one of the empty plates stacked at the head of the table. Loading their plates with each of the foods, they began to gorge themselves. The dining room filled with the sounds of lips smacking and appreciative moans as they satiated their hunger. John uncorked one of the wines and poured full goblets for each of them. He and James exchanged grins and they relaxed and enjoyed the feast.

Their bellies uncomfortably full, they soon pushed away from the table and went in search of a place to rest. One of the other doorways in the palace led to a luxurious room with a huge, four-poster bed draped in gauzy fabric in jewel tones to match the patterned pillows stacked on the bed. Shedding the bulky parts of their gear, John and James fell into bed in a tangle of limbs. Drunk, tired, and full, they pressed chapped lips together in fervent kisses as their hands roamed over each other's bodies. But soon the ordeal of their night caught up to them and their hands stilled. They curled together, heavy eyelids drifting closed, and fell into a deep sleep as the blazing sun made its climb high into the sky overlooking the desert.

***

James heard the low growl first and blearily blinked his eyes open, scrubbing the sleep from them with his hand. As he focused, he turned his head and saw the immense black and white tiger walk into the bedchamber, its muscles fluid beneath its fur. It had piercing blue eyes that glared at the two of them as it curled its lip and let out a low growl.

"John!" James hissed, fumbling behind him for his gear, which he'd dropped carelessly the night before.

"Hnng?" John squinted open his eyes to look confusedly at James, then turned to follow his horrified gaze.

The sight of the massive, angry tiger was enough to pull John into wakefulness and he, too scrambled back, body alert. James finally located the small Glock he carried as a sidearm. Flicking off the safety, he leveled it at the beast's head.

"Wait!" John cried. "Don't... it's just an animal, James! You can't kill it in cold blood."

"Better him than us." James growled, his fingers tensing.

Time seemed to slow as John watched in horror as his friend squeezed the trigger. He knew in his heart this was the wrong move. He saw the tiger's muscles coil as it prepared to jump. Launching himself from the bed, John catapulted his body in front of the tiger, the bullet catching him in the shoulder. He cried out before slumping to the floor, the wound spraying blood across the white marble.

A roar ripped from the tiger's mouth as it leapt over John and collided with James, pinning him back against the mattress with its razor sharp claws.

"You dare come to my palace?" The enraged voice that emerged from the tiger's mouth was deep and gravelly. "Consume the feast that I gave to you in kindness? Sleep in my bed chambers? You dare, then, to threaten my life?"

John clutched his bleeding shoulder tightly, grimacing against the waves of pain that assaulted him. He wondered if he were hallucinating from the loss of blood as he listened to the tiger's voice. James gaped up at the beast, his face a ghostly white as he tried to process what he heard.

"I... I'm sorry!" James gasped, the claws digging deep into his skin. "I didn't realize...."

"No, your kind never do." Spat the tiger. "How do you propose to make amends?"

"I...I..." James floundered for the proper reply.

Easing his paws off James, the tiger withdrew and paced in front of them both, casting hateful glances at James. He turned to John and pinned him with the cold gaze of those preternaturally blue eyes. "Are you injured badly?"

John felt dizzy from pain. "It hurts pretty badly... but I think... I...."

John's eyes rolled back in his head and the darkness took him over as he pitched forward onto the marble floor. Distantly he heard the loud yowl of the tiger mix with James's cries of alarm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes to discover his life is no longer his own.

It was the bird that woke John. His eyes blinked open, the bleary world coming into focus slowly until he found himself looking at a bright green bird perched on the open window that let in a warm, desert breeze. The bird had a long, thin beak and brilliant blue splashed across its cheeks. It let out several high-pitched chirps and then, as if sensing it had been seen, it ruffled its feathers and flew out the window.

John's head felt like a melon that had been scraped clean and left to dry in the arid sun. His mouth was parched and his tongue felt too big for his mouth. He was laying on the four-poster bed in only his combat trousers. His shirt, shoes, and socks had been removed and he spotted them, folded and resting on a chair near the bed. He moved to sit up and gather his bearings and pain tore through his shoulder, causing him to gasp and fall back. Craning his neck to look at his shoulder, John saw it was covered in a white gauze bandage, a faint spot of dried blood at the corner. Fuzzy memories began replaying in his mind; James, the food, the grand palace, the tiger... a gun going off. John probed the bandage with his finger and grimaced at the fresh pain that hit him.

"J-James?" His voice came out raspy and quiet and John cleared his throat and tried again. "James?"

No answer. The only sound was the faint birdsong from outside the window. Slowly, John pushed himself to a sitting position, grunting softly, but ignoring the pain. The dizziness came next, setting his vision spinning. His empty stomach clenched and he dry heaved as nausea rose up the back of his throat. John closed his eyes tightly and waited for the dizzy spell to pass. He moved in slow motion, feeling as though he was made of cracked porcelain - one wrong tap and he would shatter into myriad pieces across the marble floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, John swung his legs off the bed and rested his bare feet against the cool marble. From behind him, through the bedchamber door, came a sharp tapping against the floor.

"You must sleep." A deep voice growled the command. "Rest and recover your strength."

John turned too quickly and had to wait for the new waves of pain and nausea to pass. When his eyes focused once more, he found himself gazing into the brilliant blue eyes of the tiger James had tried to shoot. The massive animal stared intently at John as it padded closer. John's heart beat as he looked around further, trying to find the source of the voice he'd heard.

"Lay back down, Captain Watson." The tiger growled, drawing up to John's bedside.

John now knew that he was still unconscious - perhaps even dead. He laughed softly to himself for his mistake.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" He asked, a playful note creeping into his voice. "None of this is real. Where am I, really? Out in the middle of nowhere in the desert? Did the guys slip me something?"

The tiger shook its head and John spotted a royal blue collar studded with tiny, sparkling diamonds fastened around its neck. "This is as much a dream as all of life."

"Nah...." John drawled, a smile playing at his lips. "It's got to be a dream. A palace in the desert and a talking tiger! I hope I can remember this when I wake up."

Growling softly, the tiger put two paws on the side of the bed and bumped John's chest with its enormous head, pushing him back into the pile of pillows. "Do as I say, or your wound will never heal!"

Though the tiger had been gentle, John still groaned as his wound throbbed. "That's the only thing I don't understand... why does it hurt so much if I'm dreaming?"

The tiger huffed hot breath on his skin as it checked John from top to toe to assess how he was doing. Satisfied, it slunk off the bed and back toward the doorway into the palace foyer. "Sleep, Captain Watson. The story will wait."

John blinked his eyes, the exhaustion stealing over him immediately. He wondered how it would be possible to fall asleep while dreaming, but before he could puzzle out an answer, his eyelids drifted closed and he was snoring gently once more.

***

When he woke again, it was night. The stars winked from the patch of sky visible from the bedchamber window. John's wound still ached, but the pain was dulled and tolerable. He felt pressure against his back and realized an arm draped over his waist. John tried to twist around, to see who lay against his body. Whoever it was stirred at his movements and the arm tightened, hand gripping John's hips and stilling him.

"Don't." A silky voice whispered. "Don't turn around, don't look at me, I beg you."

John froze. "Who are you? Why are you in bed with me?"

Something wet pressed against John's neck and he realized with a shock that the stranger was kissing him, lips soft and supple against his sunburned skin. "Who I am is not important."

"It bloody well is to me, mate!" John exclaimed, once again trying to turn around.

The stranger pulled away. "Please, I ask only this one thing. Do not look upon my face."

John paused, the anguish in the unknown voice tugging at his heart. "Right... if I do what you ask, will you answer my questions?"

The hand at his waist traveled up his chest, exploring the plains of his muscles and John felt a lithe, strong body press closer to his back. "I shall endeavor to answer your questions, yes."

John felt the beginnings of a hundred questions at his tongue, but he finally settled on one: "Did you treat my wound?"

A pause, then the stranger answered. "I did. It is not a bad one, I don't think. Not too deep. You're sure to have a scar, though. But it could have been worse and I believe with time and rest, it will heal just fine. You should have the full strength of your arm as soon as you heal."

John swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he decided to aim for politeness - for now. "Thank you, then. I suppose I owe you my life."

"You saved a life through your actions." The stranger whispered, his mouth right next to John's ear. John felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift at the thrill of the silky voice so close. "It was the least I could do."

"And my partner? Where is he?"

"I sent him away."

Panic leapt in John's chest. "What?! No, you can't have!"

A soft laugh, then the voice answered, sounding harder than before. "Of course I can, and I did. He had only two choices - leave and never come back, or remain and die."

John struggled to turn around, to meet the eyes of this stranger who behaved so callously, but the hands stole up to his shoulder and pressed, causing the pain to leave him gasping.

"I have been reasonable thus far." The voice hissed. "But if you will not allow me my one condition, I do know how to be cruel."

John breathed heavily as he waited for the pain to pass. Finally, he nodded. "I... I'm sorry. I won't try that again. My partner - James - and I were lost.. I won't know how to find my way back to him."

"You shan't be returning to your previous life, I'm afraid." The stranger whispered. "That was what your partner traded for his life. I let him go - sent him back where he came from - in exchange for your life as mine."

"He... what?!"

"It was a fair trade. A life for a life... and your partner was eager to give you up so that he could return to what he left behind."

"So I'm your... what, slave?"

"No, no...." The stranger laughed, the sound like a silk scarf trailing over John's skin. "You are my guest. You may go wherever you wish on the palace grounds and do whatever pleases you. The only rule you are bound to is this: at night I shall join you in bed and you must never, ever look upon my face."

"What possible benefit do you get from that?"

A wistful sigh reached John's ears. "I am lonely... I want only for a scrap of companionship."

"You have an odd way of making friends." Snorted John.

"Oh... I don't have friends." The voice said sadly. "I have been alone in my palace for so long."

John tried to quash the surge of sympathy he felt towards the stranger. "Say I agree to this arrangement... how long am I bound to this?"

The stranger hesitated and then, resigned to telling the truth, answered, "A year and a day. After that, the contract shall be broken."

"And you'll help me find my way back?"

"If that is what you wish." The stranger whispered sadly.

John chewed his lip, sorting through the questions in his mind. "What about that tiger? The one I kept James from shooting?"

"He's harmless." The stranger said quickly. "I do not venture out in the daylight. He will help you with anything you need until I can join you at night."

"Does he have a name? Do _you_?"

"My name is unimportant." The stranger said breezily. "But the tiger is called Sherlock."

"And it talks?"

"It does. I think you'll find that things here have a slightly magical quality about them."

" I don't believe in magic."

The stranger laughed again and squeezed his hand at John's waist. "It believes in _you_."

John weighed his options in his head. He could attempt to run, but he faced a vast desert with that choice as well as a tiger that would surely be sent after him. Or he could remain, follow the stranger's rules, and bide his time while he learned more of his circumstances.

"I accept." John said. "I will remain here a year and a day in order to fulfill James's obligations."

"Let us seal it, then." The stranger said.

"How?"

"Close your eyes."

"Excuse me?"

"Please, just do as I say? Do not open them until I tell you."

Sighing, John closed his eyes. He felt the stranger shift at his back and then he felt lips pressing against his own. The lips were warm and smooth like a desert stone that had its surface leveled by the blowing sand. John gasped as the lips met his, but kept his eyes firmly shut. The stranger pressed the kiss deeper, swallowing John's gasp and probing his tongue into John's mouth. John lifted his uninjured arm to clutch the back of the strangers head, his fingers tangling in a mass of silken curls. Over his shock, john kissed back hungrily, the sensation of strange lips upon his a new - but not unwelcome - feeling. The kiss broke too soon, leaving John's lips to grow cold.

"You can open your eyes now." The stranger whispered, settling back in his original spot.

John blinked open his eyes. The sun had begun to rise in the east, setting alight the horizon with a riot of golds and pinks. The room was silent once more and John turned his head cautiously; he lay in the over-sized bed alone, the rumpled blankets beside him the only indication that had not always been true.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John explores the palace grounds and tests Sherlock's limits.

A goblet of wine had been left at John's bedside. The note beneath it read: _This will make the pain more tolerable._

Wary, but desperate for his pain to recede, John sipped the wine and almost instantly felt the throbbing in his shoulder recede. He sighed in relief and felt some of his energy return. John gulped the last of the wine and clambered off the bed. He went to fetch his shirt and shoes, but found them replaced by other clothing. The clothing was of a gauzy material that would keep him cool from the extreme temperatures of the desert. John lifted up a loose pair of black pants, an ecru shirt with wide sleeves, and a pair of sandals. Feeling the heat of the day already permeating the palace walls, John removed the rest of his combat clothing and pulled the new outfit on. He combed his fingers through his hair and wondered at his chances of a shower later in the day.

John padded out of the bedroom, holding his injured arm gingerly, though the pain had dulled to a minor ache. Stomach rumbling, he followed his nose into the dining room where he'd last sat with James. This time, a feast did not greet him. Instead, a single plate sat on the table, heaped with a pile of tomato and eggs, slices of fresh pita bread, and a pot of labneh drizzled with honey and finely chopped almonds. A steaming mug of tea sat beside the plate. John sat down and gratefully started eating, scooping the eggs into his mouth using the bread. The tea was spicy and sweet, burning his tongue slightly as he gulped it.

"If you are still hungry, I will bring you more." A silken voice said from the dining room doorway.

John turned and locked eyes with the massive tiger. He stared intently at John before lazily slinking into the room.

"Th-thank you." John stammered, still feeling skittish around the beast. "Your name is Sherlock, isn't it?"

The tiger's mouth split open into what greatly resembled a grin, revealing sharp canines and a smooth, pink tongue. "I see you have met the other inhabitant of this palace."

"I don't suppose you have any more answers for me?"

"Some things are better left in secret." Sherlock leapt on the table and curled up in the middle of it, his eyes never leaving John. "Will you stay?"

"I don't really have much of a choice, do I?" John grumbled, angrily grabbing the pot of labneh and stuffing a bite into his mouth.

"There are always choices. It just depends on what consequences you're willing to accept."

John glared at the beast as he finished his breakfast. Setting aside his empty plate and utensils, he brushed the crumbs from his shirt. "Well, I don't exactly relish the idea of dying here or in the desert, so I guess I'm stuck here, while my partner goes free."

Sherlock stared at him for such a long time that John began to squirm uncomfortably. Finally, the tiger spoke once more. "Are you angry with him?"

"With James, you mean?" John asked and shifted in his seat, wincing as his shoulder protested. "Yes. I am. James is always the impetuous one. Shoot first, ask questions later. This time he got us both into a mess and I've paid the consequences."

"But you're willing to stay and pay for his mistakes?"

"Again, do I have a choice?" John held up a hand before Sherlock could speak again. "I mean, a choice that doesn't involve my death?"

"You could refuse." Sherlock observed. "James would be brought to stay in your place."

"And he would be here for a year and a day, instead?" John asked, grasping at a thread of hope.

"No." Sherlock answered firmly. "James committed an act of violence. He would be killed."

John blanched, feeling the breakfast he'd just eaten rise in the back of his throat. He shook his head sharply. "I wouldn't do that to him. He doesn't deserve that, no matter how stupid he was."

"So you will stay?"

"I suppose that means yes, I will stay." John paused, then asked the other question weighing on his mind. "Will I get to see James? Or anyone else in my team?"

A long pause preceded Sherlock's answer. "You must stay here for a year and a day."

John nodded, feeling a cowl of loneliness settle over him. "I see."

"There are many ways to occupy your time here." Sherlock offered. "There is a library and naturally heated pools outside. You are free to roam the grounds as you wish."

John nodded silently, refusing to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"If it is companionship you desire, I am happy to keep company with you." Sherlock offered, hesitantly.

John closed his eye and then finally spoke. "No, actually... I think I'd like to be left alone now."

Sherlock stared hard at him and John sensed he'd hurt feelings with his rebuff. He raised his chin defiantly and stared back, refusing the break the gaze. Sherlock huffed softly and slid off the table. "As you wish. Should you need anything, simply call out my name and I will endeavor to help."

John felt a pinch of guilt after Sherlock left the dining room. He stood, stacking his empty dishes at the corner of the table, then meandered into the foyer to explore the palace. The multiple arches led to various parts of the palace; John chose one that took him outside under the glaring desert sun. Stone tile covered the ground and various canopies with seating arrangements dotted the patio. In the middle was a large pool with a stone waterfall at one end. The edge of the patio on one side curved off into a copse of palm trees. John followed that path and found himself in a lush, tropical garden with leafy green trees heavy with fruit and wildly colored flowers that scented the air with their perfume. The ground was slightly spongy and covered in moss that sunk a slightly as John stepped on it. The garden shouldn't have been able to exist and it was this, more than anything, that proved to John something magic was happening. It was not silent, but filled with the chirping of birds and insects. John stood in the middle, savoring the earthiness he'd missed while in the desert. Then he turned and left, wandering back out into the sunlight. On the opposite side of the patio, the tile ended in sand and the desert stretched out ahead of John.

He approached the edge of the sand and reached out a hand. His hand met a small wall of resistance, but he pushed, feeling the air pop around him as he crossed to the sand. Before he could go further than a few steps, something collided into his body and sent him sprawling back on the tile. John howled and clutched his shoulder, which burned with pain that traveled all the way down his arm.

Sherlock stood over him, teeth bared, a warning growl rumbling from his chest. "You are not to leave!"

The tiger followed that command with a loud roar that sent chills down John's spine.

"I'm sorry!" John cried, trying to wriggle away from the tiger. "I swear I wasn't trying to leave! I was just curious."

The tiger placed a paw on John's shoulder and pushed down, causing John to scream until he thought he'd black out. "Please! No... no! It hurts!"

"If you disobey the rules again, you will know more than pain." Sherlock hissed, lifting his paw and backing away from John.

John swallowed back a sob as he scrambled away, pressing his back against a low stone wall near the edge of the desert. He cradled his shoulder and cast hurt eyes on Sherlock. "I won't try to leave again, I promise."

Seemingly satisfied, Sherlock sat back on his haunches and cocked his head at John. "Are you all right?"

John laughed bitterly. "As if you care!" He snapped and spat angrily on the ground.

"I did not intend to cause you further injury." Sherlock said, his voice laced with apology. "I merely wanted to drive the point home."

"I'd say you bloody well did that!" John pushed himself to his feet, grunting as the pain in his shoulder returned full force.

"Please, let me look at your shoulder and see if I need to attend to it."

"No!" John snapped. "Stay the hell away from me! I don't need you kind of help!"

Before Sherlock could respond, John turned and retreated back into the palace. He sprinted blindly through several arches until he found himself in a tiled bathroom with an enormous tub low to the ground. John sank down to the floor once more and finally let the emotions of the past few days overtake him. He heaved great sobs, his cries echoing off the walls of the bathroom as tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He cried until he was exhausted and couldn't cry anymore. Scrubbing away snot and tears, John slowly stood and removed his shirt. He examined his shoulder in a full-length mirror mounted on the wall. The surrounding skin was a starburst of bruises in varying stages of black and blue. He flexed his shoulder and gasped at the pain that shot through. John made a mental note to try to fashion some sort of sling to keep his arm stable from now on.

John turned to the gigantic bathtub dominating the room and reached in to turn on the water. He twisted the knob until it was as hot as he could stand and filled the tub to the top. Disrobing and climbing into the tub, John moaned in pleasure as the hot water soothed his muscles. He removed the bandage from his wound and let the water clean it out and soothe it with warmth. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes while he let the water relax him. As soon as his limbs felt loose, he searched around until he found the necessary toiletries. John lathered himself with soap and scrubbed gritty, desert sand from his hair. As the water grew lukewarm, John rinsed himself off and drained the tub. He dried himself off and put his clothes back on, leaving his shirt off until he could find another bandage for his wound. John felt calmer now that he was clean and the pain in his shoulder had faded once more.

A quick inventory of the cupboards in the bathroom produced no first aid supplies and John padded back to the palace foyer. He still stewed over Sherlock's violent treatment of him, but he didn't know where he would find dressing for his wound.

Giving in, John called softly, "Sherlock, I need you."

John felt him approach from behind and he turned to find a very contrite-looking tiger sitting stiffly on the floor. "How can I help, John?"

John indicated his shirtless state and the un-bandaged gunshot wound. "I took a bath, but I need more bandages. I can put them on myself, I just couldn't find the supplies."

"Of course." Sherlock got up and disappeared into one of the doorways, emerging a few moments later with a first aid kit clamped in his jaws.

"Thanks." John said hesitantly, taking the kit from Sherlock.

He pawed through the first aid kid and found what he was looking for. Though it proved awkward, he was able to wrap the wound well enough to keep it dry and clean.

"John...." Sherlock began, watching John as he fastened the bandage. "I want to apologize again for earlier. I...."

"It's nothing." John interrupted. "Water under the bridge."

Sherlock paused, then tried again. "I just want to clear the air between us...."

"Nothing to clear." John snapped. "I'm tired, though... I'm going to go lie down."

He turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Sherlock behind, hurt flooding his brilliant blue eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s mysterious stranger returns to him at night, once more.

After a nap, John spent most of the day in the library Sherlock told him about. Every book he could have wanted filled the shelves, as well as a cupboard stuffed with writing and art supplies. John didn't consider himself an artistic type, but given the choice of doing nothing and doing something, he'd choose the latter. For now, he chose a book and wiled away the rest of the day in one of the cozy reading nooks in the library. He didn't see Sherlock at dinner time, for which he felt relief.

As a thin sliver of moon ascended the night sky, John changed into a pair of gauzy sleep pants and crawled into bed, his eyelids heavy despite his earlier nap. It took him a moment to find a position that didn't cause his shoulder to ache, but as soon as he did, he drifted off to sleep.

The stranger joined him sometime in the middle of the night. John jolted awake as he felt a hand rest against his stomach. His body must have stiffened, because the stranger laughed softly.

"I didn't mean to wake you." The fingers at John's stomach curled lightly against the skin.

"I wasn't sure you'd be back."

"Is it a problem?"

"N-no." John stuttered. "I guess not."

"You seem unsure."

"Well, I'd probably feel better if I could see your face."

The hand withdrew. "I'm sorry, that's simply not possible."

"I see. So we're just going to share a bed every night and I'm never going to know who you are?"

"What would you like to know?"

"Your name?" John asked hesitantly, wondering how far he could push his luck.

The stranger was silent, but John could feel his breath on his back.

"I've got to call you _something_." John pressed further.

"True." The stranger observed. "I suppose you may call me William."

"Who are you, William?"

"Ah, no." William's voice grew teasing. "That is much too direct a question."

"Okay. So you've given me a name - obviously not your real one." John said. "And I can't ask you directly who you are. Is this your palace?"

"It is my home, for now."

John sighed in frustration. "What exactly do you want from me? Are we just supposed to share a bed and not talk to each other?"

William hesitated again, then exhaled a soft breath against the back of John's neck. "I would like to get to know _you_ better."

"But it'll be a one-sided thing, eh?" John asked, feeling his frustration grow.

"Perhaps...." William suggested. "We could tell each other stories."

"I'm not much of a storyteller." John laughed. "But I guess I could try?"

"I'd also like to see to your wound."

"How will you do that, without having me look at you."

This pause was the longest so far. Finally, William shifted behind him and John felt the touch of silk on his hands. "Will you put this on?"

"A blindfold?!" John asked, incredulous.

"It is the only way we can face each other. Please?"

John wondered if maybe this was all some sort of extended fever dream. That perhaps he was still on the base and suffering from some terrible, wasting disease. If so, what harm was there in playing along? He nodded his assent. "You'll have to help me tie it."

The cloth slipped over his eyes, blacking out his vision, and William helped him tie it behind his head. Then he helped John sit up in bed and John felt hands peel back the bandage over his wound. William's gentle fingers probed around the wound.

"It's healing well." William observed. "You'll still be sore for a while, but I see no signs of infection."

"No thanks to the other resident of the palace." John grumbled.

"You and Sherlock had a confrontation today?" William asked lightly. "You tried to leave the palace grounds?"

"I wasn't planning on running away."

"Regardless, Sherlock is in charge of enforcing the rules. Sometimes he comes across rather more gruff than he means to."

"Well, he is a bloody tiger."

William's laugh was warm and low, like a gently babbling brook rolling over river rocks. "He is."

"So... a story?" John asked. "You promised me a story, I believe."

"Let us get more comfortable." John felt William settle once more behind him. "Sit back against me."

John leaned back against William's firm chest and immediately felt fingers comb through his hair. He closed his eyes and let himself relax. _It's only a dream, after all. Might as well enjoy it._

"Once," began William. "There was a prince."

"Are you the prince?" John piped up, curiously.

"Hush. No interruptions." William tugged lightly on John's hair. "Once there was a prince, who lived in a castle by the sea, right at the edge of the sky, with his parents, his brother, and his dog. One day, his dog strayed too far into the ocean and turned to seafoam. The prince was inconsolable, so the sea gave him a shell, which talked to him. It told him secrets about his parents, about his brother. It made him distrustful and secretive. The prince withdrew, refusing to join his family in anything they did. The shell told him he had the ability to use powers - dark powers - and showed him how to conjure magical things. The prince withdrew further into himself, learning to harness his powers and shape his surroundings."

William's fingers continued to tangle in John's hair as he spoke in a voice tinged with sadness. "One day, the prince's parents found out what he was doing and they admonished him. They told him he must throw his seashell far into the ocean, until it didn't return. The boy did not want to lose his only friend, so instead he found a different shell on the beach and threw that into the ocean. When he returned to his rooms in the palace, he found a beautiful woman with sea-green hair waiting for him. She was the witch who lived in his seashell and, by choosing her over his parents, the prince had freed her and tied himself to her for all eternity. The witch told the prince that, when he was of age, he would marry her and they would live in a castle in the sky forever. And with that pronouncement, the witch left the prince behind, promising to return on his twenty-first birthday."

"What happened then?" John asked.

"That is a story for another night." William replied. "It is now your turn to tell _me_ a story."

John considered protesting, but knew it wouldn't sway William's mind. "Mine isn't as interesting as yours. No magic seashells in my stories. My dad died when I was ten, mom died right before I graduated high school. I have a sister, but we aren't close. I left her with an aunt and I joined the military. My first night in the army, I met James, my partner and... my friend. He's my opposite in almost every way. He's from a big, happy family. He's loud and boisterous, impulsive. I'm quieter and think things through, most of the time, although there's a part of me that craves adventure, too. I guess that's the part of me that wanted to join the army. So I became friends with James, but it wasn't until our first skirmish that we became _best_ friends. We were in the middle of the desert, trying not to get ourselves killed, when James went charging through without waiting for us to clear the area. Almost got himself shot to death by an insurgent, except I saw and shot him before he could go after James. After that, we were just... linked. James and John. Partners. I don't even remember when we went from friends to... more. It just seemed natural and so it feels like we've always been that way."

Williams fingers threaded through John's and squeezed his hand softly. "Have you felt that way before?"

"About anyone? Not really, no. I've had a few girlfriends, sure, but never anything serious."

"You must miss James, then."

"I do. But if my staying here will keep him safe, I'm willing to sacrifice anything for him."

"Would he do the same for you?"

John remained silent, contemplating the question. Deep down, he knew the answer was no. James looked out for James, no one else. John knew he'd always be the army fling James would boast about, nothing more.

"I've made you sad." William said.

"I think I've made myself sad." John laughed.

William brought John's hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across the knuckles. His lips were soft and plump; John shivered at the close contact of their skin.

"Were you the prince?" John asked sleepily. "The prince with the seashell?"

"Shhhh...." William soothed. "No more questions, you need your sleep."

"But I want to know...." John protested, even as a yawn overtook him.

The fingers returned to brush through John's hair and William's next words brushed close against John's ear, sending a shiver through his body. "Sleep, John. Dream of happier places than the desert."

Try as he might, John could no longer keep his eyes open. He felt William help him stretch out on the bed and his last conscious moment was of William's arms encircling him as he drifted fully into sleep.

He woke with the morning to an empty bed, the only trace that William had been there was the faint smell of him: citrus, cardamom, and a fresh smell that reminded John of the ocean on a summer day. He touched his knuckles to his own lips, remembering the electric current that ran between them when William touched him. Closing his eyes, he found himself eager for the days to pass and for night - and William - to arrive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes an effort at friendship with Sherlock the tiger.

  
_"Cannot a beast be tamed?"_  
\- Robin McKinley, _Beauty_  


Once again, John found breakfast laid out for him. Today breakfast was served mezze-style, with fresh naan still warm from the pan, baba ghannouj and hummus, dried fruits, tangy feta that bit at the tongue, bowls of salty olives, and hard-boiled eggs among the choices. John mused to himself that if he remained here for long, he would grow soft around the middle. He decided then and there he would figure out an exercise regimen to keep the boredom at bay. He allowed himself to eat more than his fill of the spread, reasoning that he would work it off later.

Mid-morning found him making a slow jog around the outside perimeter of the palace. Between the desert heat and his injury, he forced himself to go slow, letting his limbs get used to moving freely again. He took care to stay within the palace boundaries, not crossing on the sand for any reason. He'd already learned that lesson well enough.

After his third circuit around the castle, he made his way to the patio where he'd almost been attacked by Sherlock. He had, in his mind, the idea to try some yoga stretches. His sister, Harry, had been into yoga the last time he'd lived at home. Once she convinced him to do the stretches with her and John discovered he found it calming and centering.

He stopped in the archway leading out to the patio when he saw Sherlock's massive form moving around. It took John a few moments to figure out what the tiger was doing. His body twisted as he leapt into the air, surprisingly graceful for an animal his size. Sherlock batted at the air and rolled over on his back, panting in what John took to be the tiger equivalent of laughter. It was then John spotted the delicate butterfly fluttering in the air and he realized that was what caused Sherlock's acrobatics. He turned his face away, covering his mouth to hide his grin. But a soft laugh must have escaped, for Sherlock scrambled to his feet and swiveled his head to stare directly at John. If a tiger could blush, Sherlock probably would have turned bright red. John forced his smile from his face and cleared his throat.

"Err... sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."

Sherlock sat on his haunches and disinterestedly licked his paw once. "Not at all. I was simply... appreciating nature."

John tried to repress his laughter, but a snort escaped. "Sure, if that's what you want to call it."

Sherlock hummed softly in annoyance, but didn't acknowledge John's laughter. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, no." John sauntered through the arches, stretching his arms above his head. "I was thinking I might do some yoga out here, but if you want to be alone...."

An odd light appeared in Sherlock's eyes, one John couldn't interpret. The tiger shook his ruff, setting the diamonds in his collar twinkling.

"You are free to stay anywhere in the palace that you want." Sherlock stated. "What is yoga?"

"Well, er, it's stretches that you do to... to limber up and clear your mind?" John tried to remember what Harry told him about yoga. "I went for a run... thought a stretch might be nice."

"May I join you?" Sherlock cocked his head, his huge eyes unblinking.

"I don't know if a tiger could do yoga...." John said, laughing a little. "But you're welcome to try."

John found some folded blankets under one of the canopies nearby and laid them on the tiles to create a cushioned surface for him to stretch out. He began with Mountain Pose, casting a sideways glance at Sherlock to see him imitating his stance as closely as he could.

From Mountain Pose, he went into a High Lunge, then Warrior Pose. He worked to clear his mind, which proved difficult when all he could see was Sherlock trying to recreate the poses in a four-legged style. He went through three different Warrior poses, and then stretched out into a plank. He raised his hips into Downward Facing Dog pose and caught sight of Sherlock doing the same, his butt stuck up high in the air as his tail waved around lazily.

It was the tail that broke John's concentration. He started snorting in laughter, which turned to great guffaws he couldn't control. He lost his pose and rolled over on his back, laughter making his stomach muscles ache. When he looked up, he found Sherlock standing over him, looking concerned.

"Is there something wrong?" Sherlock asked, dipping his head and nudging John's uninjured shoulder with his nose.

This sent John into renewed gales of laughter as he tried to answer Sherlock. "You... you...."

Sherlock huffed unhappily. "You find me humorous?"

John's giggles faded until he hiccupped once and sat up on his elbows. "No... I mean... I didn't mean to upset you. It's just... well, it's kind of ridiculous to see a tiger trying to do yoga. And then it occurred to me how ridiculous this whole situation is. I, Captain John Watson, now live in a magic castle with a talking tiger and a man who is probably horrifically disfigured. It's... it's kind of hilarious, if you think about it."

John was breathless from laughing. He stared up at Sherlock, who scowled back at him, obviously not as amused. Impulsively, he reached up and buried his hand in Sherlock's silky fur at his neck. His fingers scrunched against the springy hairs as he stroked Sherlock's chest. Sherlock stiffened at first, but then relaxed and pressed into John's hand. A tentative, rusty purr rumbled from his chest. He dipped his head to John's arm, rasping a rough, pink tongue across his golden skin. The warm roughness of his tongue drew goosepimples along John's arm. He grinned, not saying anything, and sat up fully, tucking his legs into each other. Sherlock huffed one more time at him and then stretched out next to him, his fur barely brushing against John's leg. After a moment's hesitation, John laid a gentle hand on Sherlock's head, stroking the velvety fur slowly.

"You are comfortable here?" Sherlock rumbled, his ears twitching as John continued petting him.

"There are worse places."

"But it is not home."

John blew out a breath and contemplated that statement. "I don't have a home. Not really. Home is... wherever I am, I suppose?"

Sherlock let out a sigh and laid his head on his paws. John couldn't interpret the sigh either way, so he remained silent as they watched the sun traverse its way across the sky, over the glittering sand of the desert.

"So. Butterflies." John broke the silence, a note of slyness creeping into his voice.

A small growl was Sherlock's only response and John chuckled. "I mean, there's nothing _wrong_ with chasing butterflies."

"I was simply acting on my natural hunting instincts." Sherlock said, staring resolutely forward.

"Ah, yes. I see. That makes sense." John pulled a face and nodded. "Just keep telling yourself that."

He heaved himself to his feet and Sherlock cast a questioning look at him.

"I'm going to go read in the library for a while." John said. "But... um... join me for dinner? It'd be nice to have the company."

Sherlock blinked a few times and then dipped his head forward. "I shall see you at dinner, then, John."

***

John followed a lazy few hours of reading with a swim in one of the outdoor pools. By the time the sky had begun to darken and the dinner hour approached, he felt ready for company. Even if his "company" consisted of a talking tiger. He found Sherlock curled in the middle of the massive table in the dining room, dinner already laid out before him. The table was set for only one.

"Aren't you eating?" John asked, strolling into the dining room and seating himself.

"I fed earlier. I'm afraid my tastes are a touch more carnivorous and I prefer to do any actual eating alone."

"Ah, I see. That's understandable." John folded a napkin in his lap and reached for the nearest dish.

He started with fragrant, warm lentil soup that burnt his tongue slightly upon first bite. After that came stuffed artichokes overflowing with spiced lamb and crunchy pine nuts and a couscous salad studded with pomegranate seeds and feta, dressed with a mint and lemon-infused vinaigrette. Sweet slabs of Basbousa flavored with rose-water waited for dessert. As John ate, moaning a little at each savory bite, he and Sherlock shared conversation.

"Who does the cooking?" John asked, scraping his teeth over one of the artichoke leaves. "The food here is exquisite!"

"I'm afraid that would be giving up the secrets of this palace." A smile seemed to stretch across Sherlock's muzzle as he watched John eat. "But I am glad you are satisfied with the food."

"More than satisfied. I'm not being fattened up for the kill, am I?"

Sherlock's expression grew troubled. "What can I do to convince you to trust me?"

"I don't trust easily." John sipped the hot tea that was served with every meal. "And there's still so much I don't know about this place."

"All in good time."

"Yes, as you keep saying. So you'll forgive me if I'm reticent to trust."

"Fair point." Sherlock inclined his head. "That being said, you're not being fattened up. I think the palace just wants to show off for our new guest."

"You say that like it's the palace doing the cooking, itself!" John chuckled.

Sherlock didn't answer, only continued watching John as he ate.

John steered the conversation away from more serious topics, chatting now about the ingredients in dinner and the book he'd spent the afternoon reading. As it grew darker outside, the stars began to wink to life. Sherlock raised his head and glanced out of one of the dining room windows at the twinkling scatter of stars. He stood and stretched, revealing sharp, lethal-looking teeth in an open-mouthed yawn.

"I must depart," he said. "Thank you, John, for the pleasant conversation. I shall see you tomorrow."

With that, Sherlock swept past John and disappeared through one of the other arches leading off from the foyer. John watched him go and then hurriedly finished dinner. As always, after he left the dishes would vanish so that, if he returned to the dining room, he'd find an empty table with nary a crumb of evidence.

John retrieved a notepad from the shelves of art supplies in the library and thought maybe he'd try writing something. He could keep a journal, he supposed, or even try his hand at fiction. Another activity to keep him from going mad with boredom. He curled up in bed, scribbling his thoughts for about half an hour, before he could no longer keep his eyes open. He slipped his pad of paper and pen under the bed and lay back, allowing sleep to overtake him.

***

John woke to warm lips pressed against the back of his neck and a hand roving over the muscles in his abdomen. As he came to full consciousness, William's voice brushed over his ear. "Good evening, John."

By instinct, John twisted his body to turn around, only to be met with refusal. The hand at his waist tightened and held him immobile.

"Blindfold." William whispered.

"Are you trying to take advantage of me?" John teased, and the fingers at his waist tightened even more, and then moved to fasten the blindfold.

John felt the silken material of the blindfold slip over his eyes. William tied it behind his head and John's world was once again black. He allowed William to help him sit up in bed, the blankets pooling around his hips and legs. 

"I don't take anything not willingly offered." William was practically whispering and his words hit John right at his center, the words surprisingly arousing.

"You seem relaxed tonight." William observed, swiftly changing the subject.

"I had a good day." John replied quickly. "All things considered."

"I'm glad."

"I still wish I could see your face."

"Alas, you cannot."

"Could I...." John licked his lips, trying to figure out how to form the question. "Could I touch your face?"

He blushed, realizing how forward he'd just sounded. "I mean... I...."

"No, it's all right." William said, his voice betraying his amusement. "Yes, you may touch my face."

John lifted his hands and felt in front of himself until his hand connected with the soft resistance of human flesh. He moved upwards until his hands rested on William's face. He ran his fingers over the skin, feeling the sharp cheekbones and smooth skin. His thumb brushed over William's lower lip and a tremor passed through John's arms. He felt across the creases of William's forehead and then drew to the side of his face to run fingertips across his ears.

"Do you have a clearer picture?" William asked, on the verge of laughing.

"I don't know." John scowled beneath his blindfold. 

William's hands stole up to grasp John's hands. He pressed his face into John's palms and nuzzled them, pressing a kiss at the center of each. John pulled his hands back, slightly embarrassed, and cleared his throat.

"I believe you owe me another part of the story?" He asked, deflecting the topic to safer subjects.

"Ah, yes. I do, indeed." William observed. "Come, sit near me and I will tell you more of the story."

John settled back against William without protest, enjoying the feeling of hands stroking his hair.

"The prince, now without his companion, grew spoiled. His family spoiled him for they were so grateful to be rid of his bad influence. And his time with the witch spoiled him, as well. He grew up callous and hard and quite unlikeable. As adulthood approached, his parents chose suitable princesses for him, but he rejected each in kind. One was too tall, the other too short. This one giggled atrociously, while another was far too dour. He dismissed each one, insisting to his parents that he would know when he met the right princess. Little did they know, he waited only for the witch with the sea-green hair."

William paused, lost in thought. John stirred, reaching up to stroke a hand over William's arm. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's fine." William's voice was heavy with an emotion John could not interpret. "It's nothing."

The story continued.

"The prince's parents planned a sumptuous ball for his twenty-first birthday. They spared no expense to provide a night of dining, drinking, and dancing. The prince was approached by a homely girl with a scar on her face. She asked for a dance and the prince refused, appalled that she would think herself good enough for a dance with a future king. This was his big mistake, however. For the girl with the scar was, in reality, the witch with the sea-green hair. She assumed her true form, yelling and gnashing her teeth. She cursed the prince's selfishness and pride. 'You will not find love in your lifetime.' She proclaimed. She cursed him to a half-life, living only in darkness, unable to be looked upon by another, for fear of being cursed for eternity."

John struggled to find a response. The pieces of the puzzle were fitting together for him, but slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, but William's fingers stilled his lips.

"I'm tired tonight, John." William whispered. "Perhaps there will be time for stories another night."

Soft lips pressed against his, surprising John. After a few moments of awkwardness, he lifted his hand to stroke the side of William's cheek as he enjoyed the feel of William's lips upon his, tongue questing between them to lick against John's teeth.

The kiss ended as soon as it began and then William was gone. As the lonely silence settled over John, he reached up and pulled the blindfold from his eyes. The dark room held no other person but himself. He pressed the blindfold against his lips, feeling tears prick at the corner of his eyes. And still he felt the warm press of William's lips against his... and the cold absence left behind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a bad day and takes his temper out on William.

John didn't see Sherlock the next day. Meals appeared at the designated times, but otherwise, he spent the day completely alone. A bad mood took hold of him early, settling in his stomach and leaving him angry and bored. He went through the motions of exercise, going for a run and a swim, but foregoing the yoga. Instead, he gave a few cursory stretches after his run and then sulked around the palace as he tried to find ways to occupy his time.

By the time the designated dinner hour arrived, he'd worked himself into a proper sulk. John stomped to the dining room and looked over the spread of food. He huffed out a breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. Then he spun around and left the food behind without touching it.

John couldn't settle himself to do anything constructive that evening. He couldn't write, he couldn't concentrate on his book. He settled on going to bed early, but couldn't sleep. Instead he tossed and turned, his skin feeling sticky and hot beneath the thin sheet on his bed. He kicked the sheet off and pushed away some of the pillows. Still sleep refused to come.

He barely heard the light pad of feet as soon as the moon was high in the sky outside. John lay stiffly on his back in bed, his eyes clenched as tightly as the muscles of his body. He felt William slip into bed with him, felt a hand skim over his stomach.

John clamped his hand over the wrist tightly. "Stop." He hissed.

William gasped a little, jerking his hand and trying to break free of John's grip. "John? What's wrong?"

John kept his eyes closed, although the temptation to look at William was there, despite all the warnings. "Stop touching me. Just.... stop."

He let go of William's wrist and the hand withdrew quickly. He felt William settle back, well away from him. "What happened today, John?"

"Nothing." John turned on his side, his back facing William. "I don't want to talk about it."

"All right." William paused, searching for words that might get John to open up. "Do you want to tell me another story, then?"

"No," snapped John. "No more stories. Your stories don't tell me anything useful."

William was quiet for a long moment. "A-are you angry with me?"

"Yes!" John barked, laughing bitterly. "You speak in riddles! You won't let me look at you! I'm trapped in this palace, all because I came in looking for help. I'm angry, William. I am angry that you're stealing a year of my life from me and you won't explain exactly why!"

All his words came out in a hot flood of accusations. Afterwards, John felt slightly ashamed as the silence stretched longer and longer.

John sighed. "Why can't I look at you, William? If I could see another face... a friendly face... maybe I wouldn't feel so alone."

He felt the bed shift. William stretched out next to him, not touching, but John could feel the closeness of him.

"I'm alone, too, John." William said quietly. "If I could, I would tell you everything. I swear I would. But if I did...."

He trailed off and John bounced his head lightly against the bed a couple of times in frustration.

"Your stories... are they about you? Are you the prince?"

"John, you don't understand!" William raised his voice, its tone harsher than he'd ever used on John before. "There are rules that must be followed. Even _I_ have to follow them. I tell you what I can tell you and nothing more. It is up to you to interpret them how you wish."

John felt his anger ebbing away. He could hear the strain in William's voice, could tell he was sincere. "Okay... okay. I get it. There are rules. I don't like the rules, but I get there are rules."

William's hand stole to John's back, rubbing comforting circles when he didn't flinch away. "It is not forever, John."

"Then what? What happens after my time here?"

"I cannot tell you that," began William.

John tried to protest, but William shushed him and continued. "I cannot tell you, because it is your choice. You choose what happens after your time is up."

"What does that mean?"

"That is something you will discover when the time comes."

"So you've told me your stories. Beyond that, you can't tell me anything else. What exactly are we supposed to talk about for the rest of the year?"

William grew quiet again and when he spoke again, his voice tinged with sadness. "Perhaps tonight, we should just sleep."

"But--?"

"No, John." William was firm. "You are angry with me and I cannot take that anger away. Anger is not a good companion to storytelling or conversation. Sleep and when you wake, perhaps you won't be angry anymore."

John hated himself at that moment. He hated himself for causing William sadness. He hated William, too, for being confined to rules that made him skip around the truth. He hated Sherlock for leaving him alone all day to stew in his own misery. He hated James for his rash actions that had put John in this position. He felt himself fill with rage and he wanted to launch into the sky and explode in a shower of fireworks.

Instead, he curled away from William and grumbled, "Fine."

The silence stretched. John felt William next to him, but they did not touch. He screwed his eyes shut and willed himself to sleep. The welcome oblivion of sleep evaded him still. He tried clearing his mind, but it refused to give up its clutter. The tension between William and him made the room stifling and the air hard to breathe.

In the middle of his internal struggle, John's stomach let out an enormous growl that, in the silent room, seemed to rattle the walls. He placed a hand on his stomach and realized how ravenous he was. He regretted leaving dinner behind, his mind conjuring up images of the roast pheasant dripping with juices that had been at the center of the table.

"Are you hungry?" William's voice broke the silence and John felt his breath on the back of his neck.

"I... didn't eat dinner."

"Why not?" William sounded offended.

"I was angry because... because...." John trailed off and sighed. "I don't know why I'm so angry."

William's hands were now at John's shoulders, rubbing and massaging at the knots of tension beneath the skin. "Is your stay here uncomfortable?"

"No, no, it's not that. The palace is luxurious and I have all that I need."

"But you still find yourself lacking."

John's muscles loosened underneath William's fingers and he sighed again. "It is a lonely existence. Especially when Sherlock's not even there for me to talk to."

"He did not visit you today?"

"No."

"And you felt the absence?"

"Of course I did! I'm completely alone in the palace... I'm going spare without someone to talk to. At least when Sherlock is there, I can talk to him."

"Then I apologize. Sherlock had to stay away because he was doing something for me. In the future, I will not keep him from you for so long."

"O-oh." The last of John's anger slipped away as he realized how selfish he'd been. "I didn't know... I-I'm sorry. Maybe if you'd left a note explaining...."

"Next time I will do that." William's voice grew a shade warmer. He finished massaging John's shoulders and sat back. "And I will try to provide some new amusements to keep you occupied."

"You don't have to do that." John felt his face flush in embarrassment. "I'm sorry... I just had a bad day."

"Apology accepted. I am sorry you had a bad day and I am sorry I contributed to it." William said, rubbing his hand along John's upper arm. "Are you ready to sleep now?"

"Not really. I'm not very tired."

"We can sit and talk, if you'd like. But you'll have to put on the blindfold."

"That's okay." John held out his hand. "Give it here, I'll put it on."

While John fastened the blindfold around his eyes, he felt William get up from the bed and then return a moment later. John sat up, cross-legged, his vision blotted out by the strip of silk around his eyes.

"Open up." William said.

John felt something cold press against his lips. "What is it?"

"It's a strawberry. You should eat something."

John opened his mouth and felt William push the tip of a strawberry past his lips. He bit in, the berry's juices squirting into his mouth and dripping down his chin. William caught the drips with a swipe of a cloth. John chewed, savoring the sweet tartness that flooded his tastebuds. He swallowed and accepted another bite, his lips brushing against William's fingers. Another berry followed the first, and another. On impulse, John grabbed William's hand gently and sucked the strawberry juice off his fingers. William gasped, fingers stiffening in surprise. John let out a laugh and let go of William's hand.

"More?" William asked and John nodded.

This time a slice of pear met his lips. The gritty texture yielded juicy sweetness as he bit into the flesh. He continued accepting slices of fruit and berries, letting William wipe the drips from his chin. Once he felt satiated, he held up his hand to stop William from feeding him more.

"Thank you." He said. "I feel a little better now."

"Would you like to sleep? I could read to you, if it would help you sleep." William offered.

"I'm still not very tired."

"We could go for a walk?"

"Not with this." John pointed to the blindfold.

"Last time I checked, a blindfold does not make one unable to walk." William pointed out.

"I can't see where I'm going!" Laughed John.

"Do you trust me?" William asked.

John contemplated this question for a moment. "Not really, no."

This caught William off guard and he let out a bark of laughter. "Fair enough. Consider this an exercise in trust, then."

"What's that?"

John felt William rise from the bed and then he found hands taking his and pulling him to his feet. "Let's go for a walk, John Watson."

John stumbled at first, not trusting William to lead him in the right direction. But soon he gave over his trust and allowed William to guide him by the elbow and point him where to go. John couldn't see, but he knew they were outside. The desert grew cold at night, the breeze biting at their skin. John could hear the sounds of nocturnal animals moving around in the desert beyond the castle. He heard the dim yip-yip-yip of coyotes and the skittering of insects and reptiles. The chlorine of the outdoor pools stung his nostrils. Under that smell was the constant scent of spices in the air. They walked quietly at first. John hadn't bothered putting on shoes and he felt the dusting of sand on tile, the granules sticking to his skin.

"Tell me," William began. "What would you do if you weren't in the army?"

John thought for a moment. "Well, I trained to be a doctor, so I'd probably do that."

"But that is not your calling."

"I don't know if I've ever had a calling." John said. "I feel like I've been pretty aimless in life. Going wherever circumstance takes me. But maybe I would have liked to do a little writing, given the chance."

"Become a storyteller?" William teased.

John smiled. "Perhaps. I dabbled a bit with writing when I was younger. With a little practice... maybe I could write something meaningful."

"It's not too late, you know."

"True. I don't know if the path I've chosen leaves that door open, though. The army takes up a lot of my time."

"And if you choose to not return to the army?"

John paused. "I hadn't really thought about that."

They were walking in a wide circle, John could tell. Now they were headed back towards the bedroom. William didn't ask more questions.

"What happened to the prince?" John asked, suddenly. "The cursed prince. You didn't tell me what happened after?"

"He was cursed, of course. His parents were horrified at his behavior and at the consequence of his behavior. They sent him away to wander the desert. The prince found the desert to be even crueler than he was. He became hopelessly lost. And so with his mind, he built himself a palace in the middle of the desert. He stayed in the palace, alone. The witch who cursed him visited once a year to ask if he was ready to go with her. Each time the prince refused, angry at the witch for cursing him. He asked to be given the chance to break the curse and the witch laughed. 'Only if you find true love and keep it will you break the curse.' The prince knew, then, that he was cursed for eternity. For who could ever love a beast such as he was?"

They reached the bedroom just as William finished his story. Before returning to the bed, John turned to William, patting his hand on his arms to orient himself. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to William's lips. Surprised at first, William stiffened, but then relaxed and kissed him back. He tasted strongly of the ocean tonight, a briny, salty flavor that conjured up images of steamed clams and the fizz of seafoam as waves crash against the sand. John licked William's bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth, grazing the tender skin with his teeth. His hands were on William's hips and John felt the evidence of his arousal against his thigh. Finally he broke the kiss and stepped away, slightly flustered and unsure of what to say. John crawled into bed and lay on his side. After a few moments, he felt the mattress sag as William climbed in beside him. John snuggled back against William and reached behind him to grab his hand and place it on his waist. The hand moved up to untie the blindfold and John closed his eyes as the slip of silk fell from his face. William's hand returned to John's waist and draped over it loosely. Their legs tangled together and John felt his eyelids grow heavy and start to close.

"Good night, John." William whispered against his ear.

John smiled softly. "Good night, William."

A second passed, and then two. By the third, John's eyes closed and his breaths grew even as sleep finally took him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William and John go for a night-time swim and things get a little steamy in the desert.

John slept late the next morning, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield them from the rays of sun coming through the windows. He awakened at the thump of someone next to him. He rolled over and cracked open his eyes to find Sherlock settling down beside him on the bed. The tiger eyed him and flicked his tail once.

"Mornin'" John murmured, reaching out and running his hand through Sherlock's silky fur. "You're back."

Sherlock's eyes closed, content, and he leaned into John's hand as it continued to stroke his fur. "I had pressing matters to take care of yesterday. But yes, I have returned now."

"It was lonely without you." John admitted.

A laugh rumbled out of Sherlock and he nudged at John's head with his nose. "I am sorry I left you alone. Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Mmmmm," John stretched and moaned, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. His shoulder felt a little stiff and achy - perhaps he'd overworked himself the last couple of days when he exercised. "I could eat."

He didn't bother changing out of his sleep clothes, but padded after Sherlock in the black palazzo pants he wore at night. He loaded his plate with poached eggs, tabouli, hummus drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with paprika, and fresh herbed pita bread, and then sat down near Sherlock.

"How is your shoulder?" Sherlock asked, watching John eat hungrily.

"It's a little stiff today, but it doesn't hurt much." John set his plate down and peeled back the bandage to peek at the wound. It had healed over almost completely, leaving behind only a puckered scar. "I think I could probably take off the dressings and let it air out a bit."

"I'm glad you're healing quickly." Sherlock dipped his head in approval.

John went back to his breakfast and eyed the tiger. "So why do you stay here, anyway? Are you here to guard William?"

Sherlock watched John eat for a moment and then looked away. "I am bound to this palace, just as William is."

"But... why?"

"That is a story I cannot tell." Sherlock let out a small chuff of annoyance. "But it is not a bad existence."

"Lonely, though."

"Yes, it is that. But you are here now, so it is not as lonely."

John sopped up the last of his yolk with a piece of pita before stuffing it into his mouth. "What if I don't stay?"

"You plan to leave, then?"

John shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. I don't have too many ties to my old life, but...."

"You do not know if the ties you feel here are genuine."

"I suppose that's it." John sighed. "This is all a bit like, I don't know, some bizarre fairy tale. Am I drawn to William, to you... because of something real, or is it because you're the only company I have?"

"Only you can answer that for yourself."

"Yeah." John set his plate aside and leaned back. "I suppose so."

Sherlock watched John for a moment before asking his next question. "Do you think you could ever be happy here?"

John thought over the handful of days he'd been in the palace. He thought of his interaction each night with William, as well as his days of leisure. "I don't think I would be happy if things remained the same, never-changing. I'd get bored, doing the same thing every day. I need to feel useful."

"Ah, but nothing ever remains the same." Sherlock's eyes twinkled as he said this.

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, frustration creeping into his voice.

"If you are patient, you will learn the truth eventually." Sherlock replied. "Once you know everything, then, perhaps, you will be able to make your choice."

"So... more wait and see, basically?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, not like I have much of a choice at the moment." John said, feeling as though they'd only talked in circles.

"William left something for you. A gift. Would you like me to show you what it is?"

John perked up. "A gift?"

Sherlock nudged John to stand up and follow him. He led John to the library where, on the long table in the middle of the room, sat a mirror.

"Is this it?" John ran his fingers along the gilt edge of the mirror. "What is it?"

"If you feel lonely, you may use it to see your loved ones." Sherlock said. "Just think of the person you want to see."

"You're kidding? Really?" John laughed. "That's fantastic!"

He lifted the mirror and paused a moment, trying to decide who to think of. Finally he concentrated and thought, _Harry_.

The mirror swirled and then showed John a darkened bedroom. Harry slept, blonde hair splayed out behind her. An unknown woman with brown hair had her hand loosely draped across her abdomen as she slept next to her. Harry sighed in her sleep and smiled, turning to snuggle closer to the woman.

"Well, she seems to be doing just fine." John said wryly, smiling.

He cleared his thoughts and tried again. _James._

The mirror swirled again and this time when it cleared, John looked at a smoky bar. James sat at a table with several other members of their unit. He grasped a sweating bottle of beer and flung one arm around a bronze-skinned man. The man looked at James hungrily, smiling wide at some joke James had obviously just told. John reached out to touch the image of James and the mirror blurred, the picture fading.

"I guess he's doing all right, too." John murmured, not sure whether he felt anger, sadness, or jealousy more. "Everyone's gone on without me."

He slid the mirror away from him. "I-I don't think I want this gift. Thank you, all the same."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked as John stood up.

"For a run, I think." John said. He paused, then added, "You can come along if you'd like."

Sherlock followed at a loping pace as they ran around the perimeter of the palace. John pushed himself harder than he normally did, sweat dripping down the crease of his back. His shoulder burned as he moved his arms in time to his pounding feet. They circled the palace once, then twice, until finally John stopped and sunk to the steps leading into the palace. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. When he went to wipe the sweat from his brow, he found his cheeks streaked with tears.

"John?" Sherlock asked, placing an enormous paw on John's arm.

"It's fine." John said, the tears still streaming. "I'm fine."

"You're not." Sherlock half-climbed into John's lap and touched his head to John's forehead. "You're not fine."

John let out a choking sob and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck in a tight hug. He buried his face in the fur of Sherlock's ruff, letting the tears flow freely.

"I knew James didn't care for me as much as I for him." John said, his voice muffled against the fur. "I just didn't think he'd move on so quickly. Especially when... when...."

"When you have given up your freedom for his life." Sherlock replied, his voice sending rumbling vibrations through John's chest.

"Yes." John pulled back, rubbing the tears from his eyes. "I thought that would mean something to him."

"It is a great sorrow when those we love disappoint us." Sherlock said gravely. "Some would learn from that and become better people. Others... I'm afraid change is not always possible for them."

Sherlock stood. "Come. Let us go lay in the sun and you can read aloud from the book you're reading."

John recognized Sherlock's attempts at distraction and offered him a watery smile. "That sounds nice. Give me a minute to change into some different clothes? I'll meet you on the patio."

Sherlock padded off and John went back to his sleeping quarters to change. He splashed cool water on his face, scrubbing away the last of his earlier upset. As he dried off his face, his eyes caught something he'd not seen that morning. On the bedside table sat a pear, round and ripe, and a small knife with a jeweled handle. Underneath the pear was a small slip of paper.

_John,_

_Eat today and take care of yourself. Smile, and think of me... I will be with you again tonight._

_W._

John hefted the pear in his hand, feeling its weight and imagining how it would taste. Not nearly as good as it would if William fed it to him, but even then, it would taste sweet because of the care with which it was offered.

Tucking the small knife in a pocket and tossing the pear from one hand to the other, John headed towards the patio with thoughts of sharing his gift with Sherlock, along with an afternoon of reading.

***

"Let's go for a swim."

William's voice woke John and he blinked awake, adjusting to the darkness of the room. He let out a chuckle as he felt the silk blindfold brush against his skin and his vision obscured.

"A swim?! You may have noticed, I can't see?" John indicated the blindfold.

He felt lips brush against his ear. "Do you trust me yet?"

John turned and captured William's lips with his, pressing a warm kiss to the soft mouth of his companion. "A swim, then. Promise not to let me drown?"

William's hand found his and drew John to his feet. "I'd never let you come to harm."

"I'll need swim trunks." John said. "Will you grab some from the closet?"

"That's not the kind of swim I'm thinking about." William whispered, teasingly, his mouth close to John's ear again.

John felt the tug of fingers at his waistband and a grin curled at the edges of his mouth. "Are you trying to take advantage of me?"

William's answered with a laugh and another tug. John found his hands with his and gripped them. He let himself be pulled along by William until he felt the patio tile beneath his feet. William's hands left his and John heard the sound of water splashing.

"You're at the edge of the pool, John." William's voice carried to him from the water. "Sit down at the edge and I'll help you in."

Suddenly shy, John backed up a few steps and turned around to slip out of his sleep pants. He felt a blush creep across his face and he shielded himself with his hands as he returned to the pool edge. He felt the edge with his foot and lowered himself to a seated position, dangling his legs in the pool.

"I'm right here."

William dripped water on John's legs as he took John's hands in his again. "Slide into the water with me, John."

The water in the pool was warm from the sun. John's feet found the bottom of the pool and he stood in front of William, keenly aware of his own nudity. He wondered if William, too, swam naked. Wondered what his body would feel like if he traced his hands over every contour.

"Come with me." William whispered, taking John's hand and pulling him.

They swam, using one arm each and kicking their legs. When they reached the deep part of the pool, William guided John to his back to float. He felt the water lap against him as William, too, floated beside him. They held hands so they wouldn't float apart.

"William, can I ask a question?" John asked.

"Mmm?"

"Did the prince change? The spoiled prince in your story? Did he change?"

"What do you mean by change?"

"I mean, after the curse... did he change? Become a better person?"

William's hand tightened around John's for a moment. "What do you think?"

"The prince in the story was selfish and spoiled." John began. "But I don't think he is now."

"No?"

"No. I think the prince has learned to care about others. To think of their needs and try to help them."

"Ah, but is that enough for redemption?"

"It is for me."

William grew silent as they floated lazily in the pool. The night air chilled John's skin and he shivered despite the water's warmth.

"Sherlock told me you didn't like the gift I left you." William finally broke the silence. 

"The mirror was a thoughtful gift." John began. "It appears my choice of friends leaves something to be desired."

"James does not miss you."

"James only cares about James." John said, bitterly. "I think I've known that for a long time. I was just in denial about it."

"I'm sorry, John."

"Not your fault. I should thank you, actually. I would have learned sooner or later... and I think I prefer to know sooner."

John shivered again, goose pimples covering his skin, as another breeze cooled the water on his skin.

"You're cold." William said. "Let's get out of the water."

John gratefully agreed and they again swam to the edge of the pool. John clung to the edge while William hoisted himself out of the water and then helped John clamber out. He stood up, his teeth chattering, until William wrapped a large towel around him.

"Better?" William asked, rubbing the towel over John's dripping hair.

"Much." John said. "I liked your other gift much more than the mirror, by the way."

"Other gift?" William asked.

"The pear." John said, smiling.

"Ah, of course. I simply wanted to make sure you took care of yourself, John."

"Well, it made me smile." John lifted his chin a little.

"I am glad!" William laughed. 

He led John to one of the canopied areas of the patio and settled him against a cushion of pillows. John wrapped the towel around himself tightly and sighed, contented. He heard the sound of William's footsteps padding away and then returning. A moment later, something touched John's lips.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Fresh fig." William whispered, his mouth close enough to John's face that John smelled the clove and honey spice of his breath. "Take a bite, John."

John bit into the fig. The soft, supple skin gave way to his teeth and the mild sweetness of the fruit flooded his mouth. A few drops of juice dribbled out of his mouth and suddenly, William's lips were there, kissing them away. John turned to press his lips to William's, their tongues meeting and tangling together. John reached up to twine his fingers in William's wet hair as he tasted the honeyed sweetness of William's mouth. William uttered a muffled noise of surprise, then shifted to press the kiss deeper, his hands parting John's towel and splaying over his bare chest. William found the small buds of John's nipples and rubbed his thumb over them, drawing a ragged groan out of John.

John moved his hands from William's hair and stroked them over his back, finding William's body bare and still damp from the pool. He found the full flesh of William's buttocks and kneaded them with his fingers and he shrugged completely out of his towel and rose to his knees to get closer to William.

William broke the kiss to trail his lips across John's jawbone and suckle at the skin of his neck, scraping his teeth lightly over the skin and drawing more gasps from John. William's hands continued their exploration downward and then John felt the light fingers brush over his hardened cock. He moaned and let his head drop to William's shoulder. He bit gently at William's skin, drawing a gasp and a giggle from him.

The gentle, graceful fingers wrapped around John's erection, stroking the shaft and rubbing at the swollen head. John's breaths were coming in shallow grunts as he thrust into William's hand, his head still pressed against William's shoulder.

"God dammit." John ground out. "You feel so good."

"Tell me what you want, John." William whispered in his ear.

"Just keep...." John panted. "Just keep touching me."

"You're bright as the sunlight, John." William cupped John's balls, softly squeezing and massaging them. "I would see you, shining, even in the darkest of nights."

His free hand tugged at John's hair, bringing his face up so that William could kiss him again, parting his lips with his tongue and swallowing John's guttural moans.

John stiffened and arched his back, streams of come spilling over William's hand as the orgasm washed over him. William held him close as he panted, his body quivering.

"You do that to all the guys you lure here?" John laughed, still out of breath.

"Do you think there have been that many more?" William's voice sounded hurt.

"Have there been?" John sat back, fumbling for the towel to wrap around himself again.

John felt William draw closer and wasn't surprised to feel lips nibble along his jawline. Then the words, barely above a whisper, brushed over his ear. "Only you, John Watson."

The air shifted around him and John felt William pull away. "W-wait!" He cried out, his hands flying to the blindfold. "William, what do you mean...?"

By the time he'd pulled off the blindfold, William was gone. A plate of fresh figs sat nearby. John pulled the towel around him as he felt the night's chill air brush his skin. He licked his lips and got up slowly, finding and pulling on his sleep pants on his way back to bed. His skin felt electric as he lay in bed, trying to sleep. When he did close his eyes, he felt William's hands on his skin again, felt his lips tasting him. He fell asleep with William's last words echoing in his head.

"Only you, John Watson."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes and John's time with William and Sherlock grows short. After a night of passion, John's impulsiveness creates great consequences.

  
_You have traveled far, but the hardest part of a journey is always the next step._  
\- Jackie Morris, _East of the Sun, West of the Moon._  


John's days fell like drops of water in a bucket; he spent sun-splashed mornings and afternoons with Sherlock, exploring the palace grounds, reading, writing, and eating his fill of the sumptuous meals left for him. William continued to visit him as soon as the first star winked in the sky. They didn't talk about the night by the swimming pool or the passion they shared, but both were freer with physical affection. They spent most nights outside, under one of the canopies, sharing bites of fresh fruit and talking quietly. John told William of his life growing up and of his time in the military. William spun fantastic tales of the desert, sharing the fairy tales he grew up hearing.

Much like teenagers in love, between stories they stole furtive kisses and found every excuse to touch each other. William often laid his head in John's lap while he told his stories and John carded his fingers through William's soft curls, imagining what they looked like. He'd become used to the blindfold, used to not being able to see during his time spent with William. But the pictures William painted in his mind with his words were enough. John was content to live with William's rules, if it meant spending time near him.

The days and nights passed this way, becoming weeks, and then months, until only a month remained in John's year and a day. His shoulder long healed, somewhere along the way he'd also found a sense of peace and contentment. He considered the decision that faced him at the end of his commitment and he grew more certain of his choice as each day passed.

***

John fell into the habit of fastening the blindfold over his eyes before he went to bed each night. That night, when only a month remained of his ties to the palace, was no different. He rested on his back, waiting for William to join him. The night air was cool and the moon full and heavy, hanging low like one of the ripe figs from the trees outside.

A soft touch of velvet caressed John's arm. "Good evening, John." William's voice was low and seductive.

John let a lazy smile curl at the edges of his mouth. "What is that?"

"Can you guess?"

John felt a soft brush against his cheek and caught the faint hint of sweet scent. "Is it a flower?"

"Very good," laughed William. "I have brought you a tulip."

John reached up and caught the hand holding the tulip. He nuzzled his face against William's palm and then sat up, drawing his knees close to his chest. "A tulip? That's an... interesting choice."

William laughed. "Have you never heard the legend of red tulips?"

John shook his head and smiled. "Tell me."

William settled next to John and put his arm around him, pulling him close. John rested his head on William's chest and felt vibrations as he spoke.

"Long, long ago there lived a young prince, Fahrad."

"Princes again?" Teased John. "Don't these royals know how to keep out of trouble?"

John laughed as he felt William's hand tap lightly at his lips. "Hush, let me tell the story."

"Okay, okay... go ahead." John said, giggling.

"Prince Fahrad fell in love with a young maiden, Shirin, who was the fairest in the land."

"As they always are."

"Indeed. But Shirin was tragically killed and Prince Fahrad, in his grief, rode his horse over a cliff and killed himself."

John frowned. "That's terrible!"

"A scarlet tulip sprang up for each drop of Prince Fahrad's blood and that is why the tulip symbolizes perfect love."

"That's a sad story." John snuggled closer to William and fumbled for his hand, taking the tulip stem in his fingers and twirling the flower under his nose.

"It is. But it is also said that the velvety black center of the tulip represents a lover's heart, darkened by the heat of passion."

These last words were said close to John's ear, William's warm breath ruffling a few strands of his hair. John stilled for am moment, feeling heat pool in his belly. The tulip now forgotten, he turned his face towards William's voice and found warm lips pressing against his. He rose to his knees and William rose with him, his hands roaming over John's back and resting at his waist. John pressed the kiss deeper, sucking at William's bottom lip as his hands found and parted the silk robe William wore. He snaked his arms around William to cup his buttocks and pull him closer as he broke the kiss to catch his breath.

"W-what are we doing?" John asked shakily while William nibbled lightly at his neck, his hands insistently pushing at the waistband of John's sleep pants.

"Something I've dreamed of doing since first laying eyes on you." William rasped near his ear. "Won't you let me bring you pleasure?"

John meant to answer the question, but then William's mouth fastened on his nipple, sucking and worrying at it between his teeth, and John's words left him. He groaned and buried his hands in William's hair, tugging the curls and lightly scraping his fingernails across his scalp.

"Christ!" John ground out when William moved to his other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

William's fingers hooked under the waistband of John's sleep pants and tugged them down, freeing John's erection. John felt William blow warm breath on his cock, making it twitch and his hips jerk.

"God," gasped John. "Do that too many times and it might be all over."

William's laugh was warm honey. "Oh, no. We'll make this last a little longer than that."

John felt hands at his shoulders and William pushed him back on the bed. He felt William straddle his legs and then his mouth returned to its ministrations. William trailed kisses down John's abdomen and along the sensitive skin at the juncture of hip and groin. He continued, lifting John's leg gently and kissing down the length until he pressed reverent lips to the sole of John's foot.

John's breath hitched and then he let out a giggle as William drew a finger up the bottom of his foot. "Ah! Don't do that!"

"You're not ticklish, are you?" William teased.

John wriggled his toes and then he let out a guffaw as William licked his foot, sending a frisson of excitement up his body.

"Hmmm... perhaps we'll return to that later." William purred, moving to straddle John's legs again.

John's laughter fled as William's mouth found the head of his cock, his tongue swirling over the slit. John arched his back, lifting his hips off the bed as he groaned.

"Ah...aah!" He gasped.

William tongue traced a vein on the underside of John's cock and then licked up the shaft. His lips smacked as he bobbed his head over John's cock, taking in as much of its length as he could manage. His hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking in time with his mouth. William's other hand slipped under John's hips, helping support them as John thrust into his mouth.

"Fuck, your mouth should be illegal," John groaned, which drew a low laugh from William and sent vibrations down the length of his cock. "I... aah...!"

William pulled away and John heard the whisper of silk falling to the floor. Then William pressed his body against John's, his heavy erection pressing against John's thigh. William kissed John again and John tasted himself, salty and musky, on William's lips. William reached between them, his fingers wrapping around both cocks and pressing them together. John groaned into William's mouth as he thrust against William's body, their erections rubbing against each other, hot and slick.

"Faster...faster...please...." John whispered.

William buried his face in John's neck, mouthing against his skin, and they thrust together, their bodies sticky with sweat. John felt his desire unravel, spooling out in a long thread as he neared the precipice. William's hands found his, lacing his fingers with John's as they thrust together, creating friction.

William's hands moved to John's hips to brace himself as their thrusting increased. John arched up towards William and cried out once. Then his cries were swallowed by William as he covered John's mouth with his and they rode the waves of orgasm together, their cocks spasming and spurting thick streams of come over John's stomach. William panted and thrust a few more times, slower, as the orgasm crested and fell.

"William... I...." John's fingers stole to the blindfold covering his eyes. "I have to see you, I have to...."

Time seemed to slow as William's strangled "No!" echoed in John's ears at the same time he pulled the blindfold from his eyes and blinked, allowing his eyes to focus.

For a brief second, John beheld William, braced above him. His body long, lithe, and faint blue veins visible on his arms and chest. William's face was carved in marble, with high cheekbones and a slim, patrician nose. A riot of black curls fell to his shoulders and ice blue eyes full of shock and betrayal met John's.

Then time caught up once more and William's "No!" transformed to a roar as, before John's disbelieving eyes, William transformed into a black tiger, muscles tightly coiled in anger. Sherlock - for it was Sherlock - roared and bared his teeth. His great paw caught John in the chest, claws digging at the skin, and John felt a searing pain as he was lifted airborne. Sherlock batted him away like a rag doll and John hit the ground hard, the back of his head coming down on the floor with a crack. As his vision shrunk to a pinpoint, John saw a massive dust storm rise above them. Then his vision went black and John slipped into unconsciousness.

***

John's throat felt like sandpaper as the sun beat down hot against his skin. His head pounded and his chest burned. He blinked his eyes carefully open, sitting up slowly and waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass.

The desert stretched out for as far as the eye could see, in all directions. John sat in a mound of sand. He wore his military gear and his equipment pack rested on the ground beside him. The desert air undulated with heat lines at the horizon. John shielded his eyes and squinted, glancing around him and trying to pinpoint his location.

In fits and starts, his memory returned. Sherlock, William, the palace... removing the blindfold. _Was it all a dream?_ John thought to himself.

He pulled his shirt down to look at his chest, which still burned with pain. Four red lines - claw marks, fully healed over - stood out against his skin. _Not a dream._

John shifted to get up and he felt a sharp poke at his leg. Sifting his hand through the sand, his fingers wrapped around a large shard of mirrored glass. Handling it carefully to avoid cutting himself, John examined it, his memory prickling.

"Magic mirror...." He murmured. John closed his eyes and held the mirror shard close. _William._ He thought.

When he opened his eyes, he saw William's face. His expression was fearful and defiant as he stood in a vast throne room. A dark-haired woman walked around him, her eyes roving up and down his body. John felt a tug of jealousy at the predatory look in her eyes. John couldn't hear what the woman said to William, but he could read her lips perfectly.

"You're mine now."

William's chin lifted, his eyes flashing. The woman withdrew a golden collar studded with diamonds and fastened it around William's neck. Thin chains threaded through a circle of gold, draping over William's chest and trailing down his arms to golden cuffs the woman clamped around his wrists.

"Mine."

As William looked at the chains now draping his body, the defiant light in his eyes dimmed and he hung his head. The woman stroked his hair and leaned close, whispering something in William's ear. As she turned and left the throne room, William sunk to his knees, shoulders slumped in defeat, face buried in his hands.

John pressed the shard of mirror against his chest and closed his eyes as remorse washed over him. He cursed his impulsiveness and wished to turn back the clock. When he glanced at the shard again, it was once again blank - just a mirror. He pulled his equipment bag closer and tucked the mirror shard in a front pocket. Then he shrugged the pack on his back and stood, turning around to survey his surroundings.

He had a compass in his pack. He could use it to get back to his base, to his old life. Or....

John looked above the horizon and to the sky. The clouds parted, as though they'd been waiting for him to look up, and revealed tall white spires of a castle high in the sky. It glinted in the sun before the clouds covered it once more. The endless waves of sand stretched out between John and the castle. He was without food or water and he was exhausted.

John clenched his jaw and shrugged the pack higher on his shoulders. With one last glance behind him, one last glance at his old life, he took one step and then another into the desert, towards the castle in the sky. Towards William.

**End Part One**


	9. Part Two - Across the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins the long journey across the desert and receives assistance in an unexpected way. Meanwhile, Sherlock is at the mercy of the queen.

  _Still round the corner there may wait_  
_A new road or a secret gate_  
_And though I oft have passed them by_  
_A day will come at last when I_  
_Shall take the hidden paths that run_  
_West of the Moon, East of the Sun._  
\- J.R.R. Tolkien

John's skin turned red and chapped from the constant, blowing sand that scraped his face. His feet caught in sand drifts, tripping him up. Twice, he fell forward, catching himself with his hands. His stomach gnawed painfully, empty and bereft of food. His tongue felt swollen twice its size. He tried not to think of water, but even the act of deliberately not thinking of water caused images of clear, running rivers and flowing waterfalls to swim to the surface of his mind. Each time they did, he shook his head and banished them, recalling William's face instead. John wondered if he should call him Sherlock now; which was his true name?

His skin radiated heat beneath his army gear. He squinted watering eyes at the sky every so often, waiting for a glimpse of the castle, or even just a glint of sunlight off its white facade. He counted seconds in his head: _one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand...._ Every half an hour, he checked the mirror shard, thinking _William_ , and conjuring him up just like that. William had been locked inside a room similar to their bedroom at the palace, but without the openness. He pace the room as though he were still Sherlock the tiger, muscles tight and coiled, ready to leap. Eventually, John saw he went to sleep on the large bed in the center of the room. John swallowed, wishing for the touch of William's skin against his. Wishing for the weight of his hand draped over John's waist.

 _Wishing won't do you any good._ John told himself, bitterly. _This is your own fault._

He began to see visions; an oasis just over the next dune beckoned him, only to disappear before his eyes. William shimmered in front of him until he snatched at the mirage with his fingers and dissolved it into thin air. John lost track of his counting and started over again and again.

The thirst grew painful, his muscles aching from lack of water. A cramp seized his calf and John cried out, sinking to the sand. He didn't know how long he'd walked. The sun had set and rose and set, but how many times? He'd lost count. He'd checked the mirror shard at least a hundred times - or maybe only ten? John tried to stand and the cramp seized him even stronger.

"Gaaaah!" He gasped, hanging his head and wheezing out a great, long rush of air.

John laid out, flat on the ground, his cheek resting against the sand. The sun continued its journey across the sky and dipped below the horizon. Stars winked to life. John's breaths came slow, but steady as the heat of the desert day gave way to the chill of night. A lizard darted across his fingers, its small claws scraping lightly against his skin. John moaned and tried to move, his muscles protesting against his commands.

His fingers scrabbled in the sand, trying to gain purchase. At first his fingers brushed over the smooth edge buried beneath the yellow grains, but a half-second later his brain stuttered to life, realizing he'd just touched something that wouldn't normally be in the sand. Getting to his knees, John combed his fingers through sand until they brushed the cold, smooth glass of a bottle. Murky green sea glass revealed itself as John pulled it from the sand. Its top sealed with a crumbling cork, a shimmery, blue swirled deep within the depths. The bottle felt heavier in his hand than it should and John shook it, hearing the glug-glug-glug of water sloshing. His throat spasming with longing for a drink, John grasped the cork with fumbling fingers and tugged.

It came out with a wet pop and water poured from the opening. It splashed on the sand and foamed up and over John's legs and then up to his waist.

"What the---?" John's voice croaked out of his throat, completely unrecognizable to himself.

The water continued pouring out and John floated to the surface. The entire desert became an ocean under the night sky, a cool breeze wafting the smell of salt and brine over John.

He groaned. _Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink._

The bottle, still clutched tightly in his hand, vibrated. John yelped and almost dropped it, saving it from being lost in the ocean only at the last moment. A thin, purplish tentacle snaked out of the bottle top, followed by another and then another. The tentacles undulated, brushing against John's skin and he cried out again. Then, with a slurp and a pop, an octopus burst from the bottle and rose up above John. Only... not an octopus. Below the waist, purple tentacles writhed frenetically, but above the waist the man who glared down at John was pale with freckles dotting faintly over his shoulders. His red hair clung wetly to his scalp and he aimed imperious eyes the color of the sea during a storm down a hooked nose. His mouth was a thin, straight line slashed across his face.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" The man boomed, his voice like thunder as storm clouds filled the dark sky and a light rain fell over the ocean.

John leaned his head back, not able to resist the relief fresh rain water brought him. He opened his mouth, catching what drops he could. The waves lapped more insistently against his body, carrying him away from the strange creature. One purple tentacle snaked out and wrapped itself around John's waist, pulling him closer.

"H-hey!" John shouted, trying to work his fingers under the tentacle's tight grip. The suction pads that lined the tentacles gripped his fingers and he had to pull hard to get them unstuck. "Let me go!"

"I asked," The man said, his voice softer, but somehow more threatening. "Who disturbs my slumber?"

"I-I didn't know there was anyone in the bottle." Stammered John. "I was just so thirsty and I thought... I thought... I don't know what I thought."

The man's eyebrows knit together in thought as he stared at John. "And what brings you to the Desert of Sorrows?"

"Is that what it is?" John laughed, bitterly. "Of course that's what it is. Foolishness brings me to the desert and foolishness will take my life."

"Indeed?" Another purple tentacle appeared in front of John. This one balanced a battered canteen. "Here, drink your fill."

Hesitating only a moment, John unscrewed the cap and tipped the canteen into his mouth. Fresh, cold water trickled down his throat and he swallowed gratefully, feeling his instincts revive. After several long swallows, John recapped the canteen and wiped his mouth, nodding his thanks to the strange man.

"I'm John," he said. "What may I call you?"

"In my former life, I went by the name Mycroft. So I suppose you may call me that."

"Your former life? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you desire to hear my tale?"

John glanced around at the cresting waves. The rain still fell gently. "I seem to be a captive audience, so... sure. Let's hear your tale."

"Across the Desert of Sorrows, there is a glorious kingdom that ruled with love and respect for its people. I was the eldest child of the king and queen. But my brother destroyed our kingdom with his selfishness. He brought a curse upon my family and now I serve out the curse in this form."

John felt his stomach flutter. "Your brother, what is his name? Where is he now?"

"His name is Sherlock, and he lives a half-life as an exile across the desert."

"I've met your brother." John said, softly. "In truth, I go to rescue him."

"Rescue him?" Mycroft's voice grew haughty. "Rescue him from what?"

"Someone stole him from me and he is now prisoner in a castle in the sky."

Mycroft recoiled in horror. "My brother is with her? This is terrible news! This means he's failed to break the curse, and we are all doomed to servitude for eternity!"

"Please, help me, then! Help me across the desert and I will save him and we will break the curse together!"

"Impossible," Mycroft shook his head. "I cannot help you that way. It is against the rules."

"Why am I not surprised?" John's voice dripped sarcasm.

"However...." A sly light glinted in Mycroft's eyes. "There are things I can give you, to aid in your travels."

"I'll take anything!"

"The canteen," Mycroft indicated the canteen John still clutched. "It is your first gift. It is a bottomless canteen. You will always have enough fresh water to drink wherever you go."

A bright flash of metal glinted in Mycroft's hands as he produced a bronze coin stamped with an octopus on its face. He passed it to John.

"Take my coin as your second gift. When you reach the castle, you will need to show it to the people who work in the castle. They will recognize the coin and help you."

John slipped the coin into a zippered pocket in his pack. "Thank you, Mycroft. I'm grateful for your help."

"That is not all," Mycroft drawled. "I am but one of four elements of Sherlock's life, now cursed along with him. You must seek out the other three and receive gifts from each of them."

"How do I find them?"

"They will find _you_. You will stumble upon them on your journey. It is up to you to recognize them when you do, and free them from their containments. They will know you by my coin and they will help you, just as I have."

"Okay, then." John nodded. "I will find them all."

"If you do not," Rumbled Mycroft. "Your quest is over before it has even started."

"Nothing to worry about then, eh?" John tried to joke.

Mycroft's face did not lose its scowl and John's laugh died on his lips. "There is a third gift, John."

"Oh? More?"

"When you are alone once more, the third gift is the bottle in which I reside. Take it with you and keep it safe. When the time comes to face the wicked Queen of the Above, uncork my bottle once more and I will fight alongside you. Now go, John. You must travel quickly, for your time grows short with every passing day."

"What do you mean, when I'm alone---?"

Before John asked this question, he suddenly found himself back in the desert, the water gone. He still knelt in the sand, the sea-green bottle held tightly in his hands. His clothes and hair were completely dry, but he no longer felt thirsty. The canteen's strap looped around his arm and John uncapped it once more and tipped it back for another drink of fresh water. He feared it had all been a dream, but the water flowed past his lips and slaked his thirst once more. He checked his pack, relieved to find the coin where he'd secured it. Unzipping his main pack, he nestled the green bottle inside, cushioning it as best he could.

He climbed stiffly to his feet, noting the lightening sky as the pale threads of sunrise climbed the horizon. Though no longer thirsty, he felt lightheaded from hunger. John wondered how long he could travel with only water to sustain him.

"No use worrying." He murmured. "Time to concentrate on the task at hand."

He withdrew his mirror shard and, this time, thought _Sherlock_.

The glass swirled and cleared to show him the room in which Sherlock - for truly, he was Prince Sherlock - had been imprisoned. A woman with long, shiny brown hair falling down her back sat at Sherlock's bedside and stroked her slim fingers over his shoulder. Sherlock watched her, his eyes fearful and his body tense. But he did not resist her touch as she leaned to press a kiss to his cheek.

A bright flame of jealousy ignited in John's belly and he had to resist throwing the shard across the sand. Instead, he shook his head, letting the mirror clear, and tucked the shard back in his pack.

John hoisted his pack higher and began walking again, hoping to cover some distance before the sun grew overbearing. This time, he didn't count his steps, nor did he stop to check the mirror. This time, he kept his mind clear and his eyes open, looking for the next magical object that would help him rescue Sherlock.

***

"My love, you are so distant." The Queen of the Above whispered against Sherlock's skin, her voice silky and dark. "What is the matter, my love?"

"I am not yours," Sherlock choked out, resisting the urge to grab her by her neck. He knew that, though she looked delicate, her strength could easily overpower his own, now that she'd prevented him from transforming into a tiger.

"But you are, my Prince." She cooed, her fall of hair brushing softly over Sherlock's waist as she climbed over him and lay behind him, her fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. "You are mine, mind, body, and soul."

"I will never be yours so completely," Sherlock snapped. "And I am certainly not yours while there is still time in my hourglass."

The Queen glanced at the enchanted hourglass that stood on the table by the bed. Bright points of light drifted lazily from the top of the hourglass to the bottom. The top had much fewer lights than the bottom half.

"Your time grows short, my beloved." She purred. "How can you possibly think anything will change?"

Sherlock pulled away from her, his skin crawling at her touch. "I have faith."

"Oh yes? Faith in the man who brought your curse down upon your head?" Her laugh tinkled brightly as she slipped from the bed and walked to the door. "I did not believe you so naive, Sherlock."

Sherlock felt his confidence flag as he realized this truth. But still he lifted his chin as he sat up to glare at her. "I have faith in _love_... something you know nothing about... Molly."

He used the name she'd told him when she first found him as a boy. When she was the Queen of the Sea instead of Queen of the Above. Her eyes sharpened to glinting flecks of steel.

"Love? I gave you my love all those centuries ago, my Prince. And you so selfishly tossed them away. What use have I for sentiment such as that? I have power and soon, I shall have you."

"You may possess my body, but you will never possess my heart." Sherlock rallied himself once more.

Molly blinked slowly at him once, twice, and then smiled slyly. "We shall see. Now I must go, my love, for I have a wedding to prepare and there is not much time!"

The door clicked shut and Sherlock heard the locks bolt into place. He sagged in defeat once she was gone. He rubbed a hand over his face, hating the jingling sound his chains made with every move.

"Please," He said, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, John. Please let your love for me be real. Please let it be strong enough to carry you across the desert to me."

He clasped his hands together, as if in prayer, and uttered this over and over, sending it out into the universe in hopes that somehow, his need would reach John and propel him on his quest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's quest across the desert and he learns more of Sherlock's origins.

The gnawing hunger made itself known with each step John took. He gulped more water, trying to fill the space in his stomach, and then sweated it out as the sun beat down relentlessly. Eventually he no longer cared what direction he traveled and he stopped checking the mirror shard. He concentrated, instead, on placing one foot in front of the other without stumbling. The sand seemed to cling to his feet, making each step harder and harder. His head filled with spiders that made his vision wriggle and dance.

At first, he thought the wooden hut standing several feet in front of him was just another mirage. It swam in front of his eyes, shivering against the rays of sun bearing down above it. John closed his eyes and willed the spiders out of his brain. He was tired... so tired. He reached out a shaking hand, expecting to find nothing but air. His hand closed upon a latch made from twisted branches that writhed under his fingers and untangled to let the door drift open. John stepped inside - maybe he could lay down and sleep, if only for a few hours.

It was stifling inside the hut. The heat stole past John's lips and snatched at his breath. His already sunburned skin glowed hot like a coal and a trickle of sweat fell down his back. John waited for his vision to adjust to the dark interior and then felt a stab of disappointment when he found the hut empty, but for an intricately carved, wooden box sitting on the sand-strewn floor.

John remembered Mycroft's words to him just then: _You will stumble upon them on your journey._ He approached the wooden box; it was an orb the size of a small melon, carved with interlocking vines, leaves, and blossoms. It appeared seamless, but when John leaned over and picked it up, his thumbs depressed the center of two flowers on either side of the orb and, after a click and a whir, the box opened into six segments, like an orange.

With an almighty creaking noise, a bundle of vines burst from the center of the box, colorful desert flowers blooming along its side. The vines grew thick, their surface covered in thin, prickly hairs. They wound up the walls of the hut, hanging down from the ceiling. The air filled with the heavy perfume of blossoms; flowers dripped nectar on the floor and from the nectar sprung dense patches of moss that spread and eventually fused together to carpet the hut in lush green. John stumbled back, dropping the box, and it ballooned up in a brilliant purple flower, tightly closed. He gaped as the petals of the flower bulged and then opened, revealing a woman curled at its center.

The woman was pale as moonlight and clothed in a traditional caftan-style dress of emerald green silk, woven with copper vines and blossoms that mimicked the carvings on the box. Silver shot through her black hair, which fell in thick curls down her back. As John watched, she stretched her limbs and opened her eyes to reveal ice-blue irises that John instantly recognized. The woman climbed to her feet and lifted her chin in defiance towards John. The vines grew towards her, looping around her wrists and draping over her shoulders.

"You're his mother, aren't you?" John asked, before the woman could say anything. "You're Sherlock's mother?"

Her eyes sharpened and narrowed. "You know my son?"

Her voice was husky and low, reminding John of Sherlock's purr. "I do know him."

"And you know his story?"

"I know some of it," John said. "I'm trying to cross the desert to find him."

Her expression turned mournful. "He's been taken above, then? The curse has been fulfilled?"

"It isn't fulfilled yet!" John burst out. "I plan to break it."

Sherlock's mother looked him up and down again, this time appraising him. "I see anger in you...and sadness. But behind that... perhaps...."

She swept her hands behind her, guiding the vines to grow in the shape of a throne. She sat, back straight and head held high.

"You may call me Eva and yes, I am his mother. Or I was... before....."

Another flick of her wrist guided more vines to twist into the shape of a chair.

"Please, sit. Will you hear my story?"

John sat down, grateful to rest his legs. "I will."

"I grew up not far from here, the daughter of a poor baker." Eva's eyes grew distant as she plucked at the strings of her memories. "I was his only and beloved child and he doted on me. In my father's eyes, I was a queen worthy of a king. And so did I attract the notice of the king, who thought that - despite my meager upbringing - I would make a suitable match for his son, the prince."

Eva stopped when John's stomach gurgled loudly. She raised one eyebrow and a hint of a smile played at her mouth. "You are hungry?"

John blushed underneath his sunburn, his face becoming even hotter than it already was. "I've not eaten since setting foot in the desert."

"But then, you must be starving!"

Eva pressed her hands together and blew into the palms, her skin turning golden with light. The light grew bright - so bright, John had to shield his eyes. When the light died away, Eva held a loaf of bread studded with dates and dusted with sesame seeds. John took it gratefully and pulled off a chunk, stuffing it in his mouth. It was lightly sweetened with honey and it tasted better than anything he could remember.

"Thank you," He said around the mouthful of bread. "Thank you for your kindness."

Eva smiled and dipped her head, acknowledging his thanks. "I shall continue, then?"

John nodded, still nibbling bites of the bread.

"The king approached my father and proposed the match and my father, believing me deserving of great riches and prosperity, agreed. The prince and I were betrothed to be married upon my eighteenth birthday. But the king was not the only one to notice me and desire me. A great Djinn saw me at the river one day, washing my father's clothes. He fell in love with me and demanded I run away with him. I was sixteen and willful, and I'd long fallen in love with my betrothed, so I refused. The Djinn grew angry, gnashing his teeth and rending his clothes. Nothing he did swayed me, though, and I ran back to my home and told my father what happened. He, in turn, went to the king, and the king threatened the Djinn and banished him from the kingdom. Before he left, the Djinn proclaimed that doom would fall on my family's head and that he would exact his revenge upon my youngest child. Then he plucked a long, curly hair from his beard and threw it at the mouth of the river, where it met the sea. When the hair touched the water, it burst into seafoam and from the depths emerged an egg the color of a stormy sky."

Eva paused in her story, seemingly lost in the past.

"What happened, then?" John asked, when the quiet stretched on for minutes.

Eva shook her head and smiled softly. "I'm sorry, I find myself lost in my memories. The Djinn scooped up the egg and held it over his head, where one bolt of lightning struck it and cracked it down the middle. Inside the egg was a baby girl who shrieked so loudly, she called forth a sea monster from the waves. The Djinn handed the girl to the monster and she disappeared beneath its depths. 'My daughter will return to you one day,' the Djinn proclaimed, 'and she will bring about a curse of pain and suffering upon you.' He then disappeared and we were left waiting."

"The curse... is it the same as Sherlock's curse?" John asked.

Eva nodded. "I turned eighteen and my prince and I were wed. Shortly after, I gave birth to my first son - Mycroft."

"I met him!" John said. "He gave me water."

"Then he, too, is affected by this curse?" Eva wiped away a tear. "I'd hoped, of course, that he would escape it... but I am not surprised."

She composed herself and continued her story. "I worried about him constantly. I worried that if he was my only son, the Djinn's curse would take him. The king grew ill and died and my husband became king. He built and army to defend his kingdom from the curse, but I knew that it would come to us in a form that no army would defeat. My hair became streaked with silver because I worried too much. But I tried to hide my worry and raise my son in a happy life. And there was happiness, indeed, for we were a family filled with love. Later, I gave birth to another son - Sherlock. I think I knew it would be him who bore the brunt of the curse, from the very moment he was born. He wasn't an easy child, nor a happy one. I did my best to give him the same happy life his brother had, but it was never enough for Sherlock. He liked to play alone, by the sea, with his dog."

"He met the Djinn's daughter that way, didn't he?" John asked, connecting Sherlock's tale of the prince to Eva's own story.

Eva nodded. "She was borne of anger and jealousy, so she grew into a spiteful young woman with a twisted darkness at her heart. And she used that darkness to influence my son, who already struggled with his own darkness inside him. I think you know the rest of the tale... or at least how it ends."

"I do," John nodded. "She's taken him from me."

"Do you love my son?" Eva's question hit John with its bluntness. "Is that why you seek to rescue him?"

John swallowed, his mouth going dry. "I... I don't know."

"You will never break the curse if you do not know the truth in your heart."

"How do I know? Can you tell me?"

Eva's laugh came softly. "I cannot. You must look within your own heart to find the answer."

"He is captive because of my doing." John said. "He does not deserve that fate because of my actions."

"So you care about his well-being?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you care for his well-being above your own?"

"I...." John contemplated the question. "I don't know."

"This is a question you will need to answer, before you attempt to rescue my son. Otherwise your efforts will be for naught."

John squared his shoulders. "I'm continuing my quest, regardless."

A mysterious light sparkled in Eva's eyes. "Then I shall help you. I shall give you three gifts; the first is the bread you hold in your hand."

John looked down at the bread and was surprised to find it whole again.

"No matter how much you eat of it, it will always replenish." Eva continued. "The second gift is my coin."

She twisted her fingers and produced a copper coin stamped with a flower on one side and a sheaf of wheat on the other. "If you show it to those still loyal to me in the castle, they will know you by this coin and they will help you."

John accepted the coin, tucking it next to Mycroft's coin in his pack.

"The third gift is myself; if you take the box in which I reside with you. I will stand by your side in your final battle with the Djinn's daughter. But know this, young man; this curse was forged in anger and hatred and it can only be shattered by pure, unconditional love. I cannot know your fate if you enter into the battle with anything but love in your heart."

"T-thank you, for your gifts and your help." John stuttered, standing and bowing slightly. "I will take your words under consideration."

John felt the light caress of a vine on one of his cheeks and then the hut was empty but for the wooden container that held Eva. He picked it up and tucked it in his pack next to Mycroft's bottle. John tore off a chunk of bread and ate it, washing it down with gulps of water from the canteen. Then he placed both in his pack and shouldered it, prepared to continue his walk across the desert.

Outside, night had fallen and the sky glittered with diamond-bright stars. The brightest star shone at the tip of the castle in the distance and John fixed his unwavering gaze on this star, beginning his long trek towards his destination.

***

Sherlock felt Molly's eyes on him, dark and smoldering, at the vast dining table. He pushed his food around on the plate, the chains at his wrist jingling with every movement.

"You must eat." Molly said, her voice sharp. "You must keep up your strength."

"For what reason?" Sherlock smiled bitterly, happy to exact this modicum of control.

"You know the reason."

"It is not reason enough, then."

He felt her anger build, the room seeming to shrink with the size of it. "You think he will rescue you? You think he _loves_ you?"

Her laugh felt like glass shards, shredding his skin. Sherlock lifted his chin and stared directly at Molly. "I think that you would not know love if you looked it in the eyes."

Molly rose, her eyes flickering with a dangerous light. When she spoke, her voice was so low that Sherlock had to strain to hear her. "I shan't stay in your company if you continue to behave this way. You will stay here until you've eaten your dinner."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Molly," Sherlock drawled. "But I'm no longer a child you can order about and punish as you see fit."

"We shall see about that," Molly snapped. She flounced out of the dining room and Sherlock was left alone.

"You shouldn't push her," a worried voice came from the servant's entrance.

Sherlock looked up to find the familiar, kind face of his father's vizier, Gregory. "Why not? What more could she possibly do?"

Gregory entered the room, shaking his head. "You know better than to ask, son."

"She's already taken everything away!" Sherlock felt like a petulant child, but he couldn't stop the words from escaping his mouth.

"You and I both know there are still lives at stake." Gregory laid his hand over Sherlock's. "If you push her too much, she may end us all."

"That's against the rules."

"Do you think she'd care? She'd rend the heavens to get her way."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Eat, my child. Eat your food, stay strong, do not provoke her."

"And if the curse is never broken?"

"No matter your actions, you must have faith."

"Do you?" Sherlock asked, casting a pleading look at Gregory. "Have faith, I mean?"

Gregory smiled. "I see the good in you, my son. Just as your parents did. I have faith that the good will triumph and the curse will be broken."

As quietly as he'd arrived, Gregory slipped out of the room. Sherlock stared at his plate for a moment and then, with heavy hand and heavy heart, lifted a forkful of food to his mouth and began to eat.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets the fire elemental and takes another step closer to journey's end.

The hulking shape in the distance reminded John of a half-submerged bus. He shielded his eyes from the glaring sun and squinted, trying to make out detail beyond the shimmering heat waves. The sun glinted off of something, momentarily blinding him, and when he looked again, the shape was gone. A mirage, then. John shook his head to clear his vision and stopped to rest. He reached into his pack and withdrew the magic mirror shard. He ran his finger across the edge and then tapped his upper lip, trying to decide if he truly wanted to see Sherlock under the evil queen's influence.

His desire to know that Sherlock was alive won out over his reluctance. He cleared his mind and summoned one thought: _Sherlock_.

The mirror rippled and then John saw Sherlock, lifting himself out of a pool of water. His skin glistened with droplets of water and his hair fell in wet curls down his back. The chains he wore glinted brightly in the sunlight as he sauntered over to pluck a plum from a fruit basket on an outdoor table.

As he bit into the plum, the dark-haired woman came up behind Sherlock and slipped her arms around him. John felt the green dragon in his belly wake up and send the fires of jealousy burning up his spine. He willed Sherlock not to respond to her, but watched in horror as Sherlock smiled and turned to face the woman. John dropped the mirror shard and, before thinking through his actions, ground his foot into the glass, shattering it into pieces. He bit back a curse as he pulled his foot away, the shattered pieces of glass catching the light like diamonds.

A shudder ran through the ground, causing the broken pieces of glass to jump and vibrate. John stumbled back a few steps, caught off guard by the sudden tremors. It came again, this time with a low thrum of sound. John watched in horror as the sand in front of him rippled and then exploded as the skeleton of a great beast emerged. Intricate gold carvings on the bones flashed in the sunlight. John backpedaled, falling and scrambling in the sand. The skeletal beast gave a roar and belched a cloud of flames so close to John he felt the hairs on his arms singe off. With another roar and a leap, the skeleton leapt towards John. He curled in a ball just as the beast opened its enormous mouth and swallowed John whole.

***

"You smell good," Molly purred, pressing herself to Sherlock's wet body. "Did you have a good swim?"

The bite of plum Sherlock had taken moments before turned rotten in his mouth and he struggled to swallow it. Remembering Gregory's words of caution, he pasted a smile on his face and turned to Molly. "Quite enjoyable, thank you."

Sherlock took Molly's hands in his to break himself of her embrace. His mind searched frantically for a safe topic to talk about, but Molly took that task away from him.

"Our wedding is in three days time, my love." She beamed up at him, the smile never quite reaching her serpentine eyes. "I'd like you to be fitted for your wedding attire. My seamstress expects you."

Sherlock nodded, his stomach tying itself in knots. "Very well... d-darling."

Molly smiled wider and hooked a long, manicured fingernail under one of the chains that draped his chest. "I'm so pleased you've come around."

Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her cold lips to Sherlock's cheek in a kiss that sent a spiral of dread through him. Then she glided away, leaving a shaken Sherlock behind.

***

John waited for oblivion to find him. But instead, he survived. He lifted his head to find himself surrounded by a circle of flames so high he couldn't see over them. Above him was darkness. Sweat poured off his skin as the flames crackled around him. In the center of the circle lay a large, black rock that glowed with veins of molten lava. John stood and crept towards the rock. He reached out to touch it, expecting to find it blazing hot, but instead the rock sizzled and steamed as though doused with water. With a resounding crack, the rock split in two and a cloud of steam filled the circle. When it cleared, John found himself looking up at a tall, muscular man with a long auburn braid down his back and a beard teased into curls, with golden rings threaded at the ends. He glared at John, his eyes a piercing, stormy blue. He was bare-chested and wore voluminous silk trousers that were a brilliant shade of red and embroidered with golden spirals and intricate designs.

"Who are you?" The man boomed, his voice sounding like a wildfire roaring out of control. "And why do you walk the Desert of Sorrows?"

John swallowed, hoping this was his next elemental. "I'm John Watson, sir. Captain John Watson. I'm traveling the desert to rescue Prince Sherlock and break the curse."

The flames around them licked higher and the man's chest puffed out angrily. "The curse is awakened, then? Of course it was, the stupid boy! He never listened!"

John let out a sigh of relief. This, at least, meant the man knew Sherlock's story. "Please, sir, I was told I would find help during my journey across the desert."

"You were, eh? From whom?"

"Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, and his mother, Eva." John's voice seemed small compared to the angry man's, but he tried to inject as much confidence as he could.

All the bluster went out of the man and he sagged. "You spoke with my Eva? And my eldest son? They suffer the curse, as well? But of course they would be...."

With a flick of his hands, there were two wooden stools. He sunk down on one of them and gestured for John to sit. "So tell me, why do you want to save my son?"

John looked down at his hands, suddenly concerned with the soot that accumulated under his fingernails. "I... um... I owe him. He spared my life when he didn't have to."

"That is all?"

John tried distracting the man. "Will you aid my journey? Mycroft told me I would find help."

The man laughed, setting the rings in his beard to jingling. "That smitten with him, eh? Well, I suppose he was always a charmer. Hard-hearted, though. It surprises me that you would care for him."

John blushed and stammered an incoherent answer. The man laughed again and waved him hand.

"Never mind, allow me to tell you what I know. My name is Aodhan and I am king over these lands. I suppose my wife told you how we came to be married?"

John nodded.

"Then you know how much fear she had for our sons. First for Mycroft, later for Sherlock. I raised armies to protect my boys from the evil I knew would come. My first instinct has always been to fight. But as you know, no army could have stopped the trickle of evil my youngest son allowed into his heart."

John's head snapped up. "Sherlock's not evil," he insisted. "I've been with him for nearly a year and I know he is not evil."

"Do you, now?" Aodhan sat back, hands on his knees, and appraised John. "But I watched him go from a troubled boy to an angry, young man who only thought of himself. Sherlock has a darkness about him and, mark my words, that is what put us all in this mess."

"Don't you believe people change?" John asked. "Perhaps he regrets his actions and only wishes to set things right."

"Is that what you believe?"

At this question, John faltered. "I-I don't know. Truly, I don't. But I know the man I met in the palace wasn't evil. It's at least partly my fault that the curse was ever triggered and I aim to make up for that."

Aodhan nodded solemnly. "Perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps you are right that people can change. It is true that I was hard on the boy his whole life. Perhaps I, too, share in the blame. So then it is only right that I help you on your quest."

John sighed in relief. "I'll take all the help I can get."

"I think you believe you are a good judge of character." Aodhan began. "But my first gift will help you know whether that is true."

He produced a flat, black rock shot through with veins of glowing red. "A dragonstone, one of the last in existence. Look at anyone through this stone and it will show you their true nature."

John took the stone and lifted it to his eye. Aodhan's center glowed bright orange and yellow, a volatile sun flaming hot and intense. He glowed so brightly, John had to look away and Aodhan chuckled.

"A king must be passionate and strident," he boomed. "I have always been born with the heart of a king."

John tucked the stone away in his pack and looked expectantly at Aodhan.

"Ah, yes, my coin. I suppose you'll be wanting that, as well." Aodhan snapped his fingers and withdrew a gold coin from amongst the riotous curls of his beard. A flame was etched on one side.

Aodhan tossed the coin to John, who snatched it from midair and tucked beside the two other coins he carried.

"Good reflexes, too!" Aodhan chuckled. "Those will help you along your journey, I'm sure."

"I hope so, sir."

"The last gift, of course, is myself. Take my container with you and I will help vanquish evil."

John nodded. "Thank you, King Aodhan. I hope I can bring peace to your family once more."

Aodhan eyed him shrewdly. "You know, I think, perhaps, you will."

The flames grew bright again and John shielded his face from the light and the heat. He felt the ground heave underneath him and then he felt cool air on his face as he returned to the desert under a night sky twinkling with stars. The skeletal creature that had consumed him loomed over him once more and then collapsed in a heap of bones around him.

John picked his way out of the bones and continued walking. He no longer had the mirror to check on Sherlock, but he found he didn't care. With each step he took that brought him closer to Sherlock, his heart grew more confident in his goal.

He traveled through the night to make up for lost time. The stars guided him and the cool air was a relief against his over-baked skin. By the time morning dawned, John was surprised to see how close he drew to the castle. It seemed to nestle amongst the clouds and he wondered how he would ascend to that height.

Up ahead, he noticed the wind pick up and a small tornado of sand whip itself up several yards in front of him. The whirlwind grew larger and John stopped, unsure of what to do. The wind hit him, whipping around him and tearing at his clothes. John closed his eyes to keep sand from getting in them and suddenly he found himself airborne as the whirlwind grabbed hold of him and tossed him skyward. John tumbled head over heels like a rag doll and he prayed that the whirlwind would land him somewhere soft. He clutched his pack close and tried to tuck himself into a ball as the wind roared around him, propelling him to some unknown destination.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets his last elemental and faces the final trials that stand between him and Sherlock.

John no longer knew which way was up, and which way was down. He tumbled head over feet, buffeted by the wind. Swinging his arms, he tried to slow and right himself. Thick white fog swirled endlessly around him. From the corner of his eye, John saw a flash of reddish-brown right before something solid bumped into his legs and sent him tumbling in the air again. A volley of joyful barking followed.

_Friend!_ The voice that echoed in John's mind felt warm and friendly. _Play?_

John righted himself once more, paddling his arms in the air to steady himself against the wind. The howling died down and the air turned warm and gentle, pushing at John like calm waves pushing against a boat in the ocean. From out of the mist, the streak of red-brown solidified into a medium-sized dog with silky auburn fur. It bounded around John and then dissolved into mist that dissipated in front of John's eyes.

_Play! Play with Redbeard!_ The voice insisted once more in John's head.

John laughed. "You're Sherlock's dog... Redbeard? Is that your name?"

_Sherlock...the boy! I miss the boy!_ Redbeard materialized again in front of John and sat down, his tail thumping eagerly. _Do you know where my boy is?_

"I do," John said. "I'm trying to find your boy. Can you help me?"

_Help! Help the man find the boy! Yes, Redbeard can help._ Redbeard's tongue lolled out as he cocked it head to one side.

John used his arms to propel himself through the air towards Redbeard. Once he came close enough, he reached out to pet the dog. Redbeard pressed his head into John's hand and his tongue snaked out to lick his wrist. John laughed again and gave Redbeard a good scratch behind the ears.

"I'm trying to find the castle. Across the desert." John explained.

Redbeard's lips twitched up in a snarl and the hair on his back fluffed up. _Castle with the lady. The bad lady! Boy is with her?_

"He is. Do you know where it is?"

_Castle in the air! You must save the boy! Lady is bad, bad, bad... she does not deserve boy._

"Will you help me get to the castle?"

_Redbeard helps! Redbeard has presents for man._

Redbeard stood and took off at a run around John, whipping the air in a frenzy. When he returned, he held a bundle in his teeth, which he then gave to John. The bundle was a rope made of shiny, silver fibers woven tightly together.

_Magic rope! Help man get to boy._ Redbeard chuffed happily and wagged his tail so hard his whole body shook.

John tucked the rope inside his pack. "Thank you, Redbeard. You're a good boy for helping me."

Redbeard shook himself and a glimmering bit of silver flew at John. He caught it just before it whizzed by his head. It was a silver coin embossed with a cloud on one side.

"This is your coin?" John asked. "If I show it to the right people, they'll help me?"

Redbeard barked and raced around John, a trail of mist following him. John spun lazily in the wake of Redbeard's circles.

"Okay, okay, thank you!" John chuckled, stashing the coin with the others. "I suppose I'm to take you with me, in your container? Where is it?"

_Take Redbeard! Redbeard helps the man so he helps the boy!_

A bubble appeared in front of John's eyes, filled with mist; Redbeard was gone. John reached out and touched the bubble, taking care not to break its fragile surface. It was made from the thinnest glass John had ever felt. He carefully stowed it in his bag, cushioning it so it wouldn't break.

"Redbeard? How do I get out of here?" John asked, for he was still suspended in air, mist swirling around him.

The wind picked up again and John braced himself as it hit him full force, sending him tumbling and twisting. The power grew and grew until John was at the center of a tornado. Then, with an almighty roar, the wind threw John airborne. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a yell as he went flying through the air. When he opened his eyes, the ground was rushing up to meet him; John braced for impact, only to have his body caught by a breeze at the last second and lowered softly to the ground. With one more gust that ruffled John's hair, the wind stilled and he was left standing several feet in front of a large gate made of white stone.

John craned his neck back and glimpsed the castle looming high above him, past what appeared to be several gates. He adjusted his pack and took a deep breath before stepping towards the first gate.

***

Two men lounged against the stone, each on opposite sides. One man wore a black tunic and white, billowing pants, while the other wore a white tunic and black pants. As John approached, the two men straightened and faced him.

"We've got a visitor, Seb." The first man drawled, twirling a pearly white staff carved with sigils in front of him.

Seb leaned on his staff, which was black and carved with the same markings. He looked bored as he answered his companion. "So it seems, Jim. What do you think he wants?"

"Oh, I think he wants to get by us, Seb."

"Typical."

John narrowed his eyes. "Hate to interrupt your conversation, boys, but I need to get to the castle."

They both turned scornful eyes on John. Jim was the first to speak. "You think we're going to let you in, lickety-split, just like that?"

"You will, if you know what's good for you," John replied. He wondered, briefly, if these were the people he should show the coins to, but in instincts told him no. These men weren't friends and they had no interest in helping him.

"Oooh, boy wants to fight, Seb!" Jim sang, his dark eyes lighting with dark glee.

Seb yawned, looking even more bored, if that were possible. "Don't they always?"

John moved to take a fighting stance, but something stopped him. The memory of James pulling a gun on Sherlock; the memory of what happened when they leapt immediately to violence. Instead, John forced himself to relax and step back. He eyed his surroundings, taking note of a twisted tree growing nearby, its branches bereft of leaves. At the highest point grew one silver apple that glinted in the sunlight. John pointed to the tree.

"I'll bet you both I can get that apple. Will you let me by if I do?"

Jim smirked. "We've tried. The branches won't support you."

Indeed, the lower branches were broken from where Jim and Seb had evidently tried to climb the tree.

"I'll bet I can." John repeated. "Will you let me through the gate?"

Jim and Seb exchanged doubtful looks before Jim turned back to John and nodded. "Fine. Fetch us the apple and we'll open the gate."

John nodded and went to the tree. He tested the branches and found them too weak to climb. The trunk of the tree was completely smooth, with no places for footholds. John thought over his predicament. The gifts he'd been given during his quest through the desert wouldn't help. He needed some of Redbeard's wind again.

At that thought, John had an idea. He pulled out the delicate bubble that housed Redbeard. Holding it up to his mouth, he whispered. "Redbeard, I need a little help. Just a little bit of wind, that's all."

He ran his fingers over the surface of the bubble and found the glass cork that held in Redbeard's spirit. He pulled at it until it popped open. He held it open for a fraction of a second, long enough to let out one wisp of air. The wisp swirled and writhed before it climbed up the tree and knocked the apple off its branch. John caught the apple as it fell and then he opened the container once more to let the wisp back inside the bubble. Whispering a quick "thank you," he stashed the bubble back inside his pack and turned to Jim and Seb. They both looked shocked as he lifted the apple aloft.

"Told you I could get it down." John said. "Now, let me through!"

Jim scowled and pulled out a large, white key. He inserted it into the lock that hung from the gate doors, and twisted it, removing the lock in one swift movement. He tossed the lock aside and then stood in front of the gate, hand held out expectantly.

"The apple?" He drawled.

"Not before I go through the gate." John insisted.

"That wasn't the deal," Jim said. "The deal was I'd open the gate if you gave me the apple. The gate is open, consider our deal sealed."

John scowled and wished he'd paid attention to Jim's words more carefully. He eyed the two of them, noting Seb's greedy stare that he pinned on the apple.

"You want this apple, then?" John asked, tossing it from one hand to the other. "What's so special about it?"

"That? It's the apple of knowledge, you fool." Jim spat. "One bite and you'll know everything in the universe. All the answers to all the questions, even the ones that haven't been asked yet."

"Really?" John pretended to contemplate the apple's surface. "That's pretty powerful. Maybe I should eat the apple myself?"

"No, no, no!" Jim stomped his feet. "That's not the deal! You're breaking the rules!"

John shrugged. "Ah, well. You're not playing fair, either. Maybe none of us should have it."

With that, John threw the apple as hard as he could, back toward the tree. Jim snarled and transformed into a sly fox that darted towards the apple. Seb gave an angry squawk and transformed into a black raven that flew after the fox. Just as the fox's jaws almost closed on the apple, the raven pecked at its tail, pulling at it with a sharp tug. The two began to fight, rolling and snapping at each other. Then they took up the chase, dashing around the tree in an ever-quickening circle. They ran so fast they turned into a blur of red and black. John could no longer distinguish between the two. A great bang sounded and suddenly John was alone. Tiny red flowers with black centers bloomed along the branches of the tree. The silver apple of knowledge grew once more from the highest branch. John looked at it for a long time, before shaking his head.

"Answers to all the questions in the universe? No thanks. My head's barely big enough to fit what thoughts I already have inside." He chuckled.

John shouldered his bag and went to the gate, which hung open slightly. He pulled it open the rest of the way and entered.

***

The next gate was only a short distance away. This one was made of grey stone and only one man stood in front of it. As John drew closer, the man called out a happy greeting.

"John? John! I knew you'd come!"

John stopped, his throat going dry. Ahead of him, James gave a little jump for joy and ran towards him, wrapping him in a hug.

"I thought I'd be trapped here forever! Where've you been?"

"I... I..." John was stunned speechless.

James, _his_ James, dressed in the same clothes he'd last been wearing when they found the palace, grinned and ruffled John's hair. "Cat got your tongue? Aren't you happy to see me, then?"

John allowed a small smile to creep over his face. "Yeah... I mean... yeah. I am. What happened, James? I thought you went back to camp?"

"'Course I didn't! Not when I didn't know where you were! You think I'd abandon you, just like that?"

"How...how did you get _here_?"

James frowned, confusion flitting across his face. "I'm not sure, actually. I know I've been here a long time... I just don't remember how... or when...."

"It doesn't matter," John grinned. "You're here now!"

James smiled and grabbed John with both arms, whirling him around before setting him back down and planting a firm kiss on his lips. "What about you? Why are you here?"

"I'm here to...." John frowned. That was funny... when he tried to remember why he was there, the thoughts skittered away from him like a feral cat. "I... I don't remember, either!"

"Aren't we the pair?" James laughed. "Well, then, let's get out of here! They probably miss us back at camp!"

That triggered a memory in John's mind. James, drinking and laughing with a young soldier who wasn't John. When did he see that? Oh... the mirror... John remembered he no longer had the mirror. He cursed himself for breaking it. But why did he? What made him so angry?

"Right... back to camp...." John murmured. "Except, I feel like I'm supposed to do something."

"Can't be that important, if you forgot it." James said, carelessly.

"No, maybe not...." John patted the pockets of his pack, trying to find something that would trigger a memory of why he was there.

"C'mon, Watson." James pulled John close and pressed his lips to John's neck. His mouth found its way to John's ear and he whispered, "Let's go home. Maybe I'll marry you when we get there."

Marriage...wedding.... "Sherlock!" John gasped, pushing James away. "N-no... I have something important to do!"

James glared sullenly. "More important than me?"

"You?" John asked. "You left me! In fact, you're not even here right now, you're back at camp, having drinks with soldiers and not caring one stick about me!"

John swung his fist, expecting to come in contact with James's face. Instead, his fist passed through and James flickered and winked out, no more than a figment of John's imagination. John stood there for a moment, chest heaving. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about Sherlock, even for the briefest time. And for what? For a copy of James. An accurate copy, but a copy nonetheless. John scrubbed his hand over his face and trudged over to the gate. This one didn't have a lock and it swung open easily.

***

The third gate was the tallest and composed of black stone. Next to the gate hung an iron cage and in the iron cage, huddled in a pile of rags....

"Sherlock?" John gasped.

The pile of rags stirred to life and Sherlock peered from behind the bars. "John? Oh... John! Is it you?"

Sherlock looked like a skeleton, his skin hanging from his bones. Black circles darkened beneath his eyes and his hair hung in limp, lackluster tangles.

"God, Sherlock! What has she done to you? I've got to get you out of there! Where's the key?" John looked around for any means of opening the cage.

"She's still go the key, it's no use, John." Sherlock moaned. "Leave me... go back before she takes you prisoner, too."

"Sod that!" John cried. "I'm not leaving you behind!"

"It's no use," Sherlock repeated. "I deserve this, John. Leave me to my fate!"

John stepped back and glared at Sherlock. "I didn't think you were the type to give up so easily! Besides, it's my fault you're here. Let me make it right."

"No, don't you see? This is where I belong!" Sherlock cried, waving John away.

"Don't you care about what we shared?" John asked, feeling hurt.

"It was all a lie," Sherlock answered. "All of it."

"No, no," John shook his head, smiling. "I don't believe that. I don't."

John reached inside his pack to pull out the bottomless canteen. Sherlock looked as though he'd been without water for some time. As John's fingers closed around the canteen, something else flared hotly and burnt his hand.

"Ouch!" John cried, pulling his hand out and sucking at the burn.

He peered inside the bag and saw the dragonstone resting near the canteen. Aodhan's words came back to him: "Look at anyone through this stone and it will show you their true nature."

John reached inside and closed his hand around the dragonstone. He withdrew it and held it to his right eye, closing his left eye to look through it. The dark, roiling mass at the center of Sherlock's heart exuded a cold evil that made John shudder. He dropped the stone back in his pack and narrowed his eyes.

"I spent almost a year with Sherlock." John said quietly, stepping away from the cage and towards the gate. "I didn't realize at the time that both Sherlock and William were the same, but now I do. One thing I learned, in that time. One thing I know for sure. I know that Sherlock is, at heart, a good man. He is a man who's made mistakes, but he is good."

The thing that wore Sherlock's body watched John with darkening eyes. It opened its mouth and a hiss emerged.

"You're not Sherlock," John said, his voice steady and firm. "I don't know what you are, but you're not him."

As John turned to run towards the gate, the thing in the cage opened its mouth and a swarm of black locusts flew out towards John. He broke into a run as the cloud of ravenous insects came at him. The gate stayed stubbornly closed as John tugged on it, cursing as the locusts drew near. Finally, just as they were about to descend upon him, the gate cracked open and John squeezed himself inside. He pulled at the gate frantically, closing it just as the swarm of angry insects collided with the stone. Their legs and wings scratched and skittered against the stone and John heard the sickening crunch of bodies as he caught a few of them in the stone gate. But he was on the other side, safely away from them. John slumped against the gate, relief washing over him.

Ahead of him, the desert ended in a mass of white clouds. At the highest point of the clouds, a small opening appeared and John could glimpse the castle walls above him.

"Great," John muttered. "How am I supposed to get up there? Sprout wings and fly?"

Exhausted from his ordeals, John pushed away from the wall and trudged towards the clouds. He peered up at the opening and tested the clouds to see if they held any weight. Alas, they acted like mist and John's hands passed right through.

Once again, he opened his pack and delved inside for answers. Almost immediately, he spotted the rope Redbeard gave him.

"Magic rope," John muttered. "We'll see about that."

He pulled the coil out and unwrapped it, tossing one end up towards the opening. Rather than coming back down as he expected, the rope began to weave itself back and forth until a perfectly formed ladder hung from the opening.

"Oh, _good_ dog, Redbeard!" John said, grinning.

He tested the rope with a sharp tug and found that it held fast. Gripping it tightly, John climbed the ladder and emerged in front of a shining white castle. Golden flags flew from the turrets and the drawbridge lay open as people bustled back and forth. A man passed John, leading two white horses with golden bridles. John reached out to grab his sleeve.

"Excuse me?" John asked, indicating the action around the castle with his chin. "What's going on here?"

"You new here?" The man asked, laughing. "The royal wedding is tomorrow!"

He chuckled softly as he led the horses away. John sighed and rubbed his face. At least he wasn't too late. But now he had only a short amount of time to stop the wedding and break the curse.

"Well, I'm not accomplishing anything while standing here." John said to himself.

He avoided the front entrance. Instead, he walked around the castle until he found the kitchen entrance. It, too, bustled with activity. John fingered the coins in his pack and wondered who he should ask for help.

"No time like the present," he mumbled.

Determined, John pushed past two men hauling a large table and entered the castle kitchen.

**End Part Two**


	13. Part Three - Upon the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, having reached the end of his journey across the desert, sets about defeating the evil queen and breaking the curse to win back Sherlock's heart.

"Oi, you! You just going to stand there, or are you here to work?"

John turned towards the voice, finding himself face to face with a scowling woman who waved a wooden spoon in his direction and indicated pot that was about to boil over.

"Oh!" John exclaimed, looking around to make sure the woman was talking to him. "Err... I'm not...."

"Aren't you the extra help I requested? Didn't Philip send you from the stables?"

"N-no," stammered John. He rummaged in his pack and closed his hand around the four coins given to him by Sherlock's family. "I'm to show you these."

He held out the coins to the woman, whose eyes widened. She crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. Her hand covered the coins as she leaned in close, voice hushed.

"Don't go flashing those around! Don't you know the walls have eyes?"

She glanced around furtively and then led John over to the pantry. Checking once more that they weren't being watched, the woman pushed John into the pantry and followed after.

"Where'd you get those?" She demanded, once the pantry door was shut tightly.

John squinted, hoping his eyes would adjust to the dimness of the small closet. "These were given to me by... by...."

He paused, unsure of how to explain how he came to possess the coins.

The woman took the coins from him, turning them over individually and examining them. "Could it really be?" She murmured in a soft, awed whisper. "After all this time?"

John cleared his throat and took a chance that this woman was on his side. "I'm here to free Sherlock from the curse. Can you help me?"

"You know of the curse, then?" The woman looked at him sharply. "Then you know of the queen?"

"Only that she's to marry Sherlock tomorrow."

"And you know how to break the curse?"

"Y-yes." John's eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see the woman scowling thoughtfully at him. He shifted from one foot to the other and blew out a breath. "Sherlock is here because of me. I... made a mistake. I broke the rules. I'm here to right that wrong."

"You're the one?" Her eyes widened. "Oh... then you... ?"

John pretended not to know what her unspoken question was. "My name's John. Do you have a name, or are we just going to stand around in this pantry forever?"

"Ah, I see some of his manners have rubbed off on you." The woman grinned. "I'm Sally Donovan, head of the kitchen. And if you're going to break this curse, you're going to have to work fast. You're also going to need help."

"Will you help me, then?"

Sally paused as though thinking about it, but finally nodded. "Yes, of course! I'd do anything to be free of this castle and _her_!"

She ushered John from the pantry and took a piece of parchment from a pile on a shelf. "Take this note to the seamstress, Mrs. Hudson. You'll go out this door, to the right, and up a flight of stairs to the tower. She'll get you properly dressed. We must get you to Sherlock's rooms tonight, but you'll have to go in disguise."

Finishing the note, Sally folded it in half and handed it and the coins back to John. He took them and nodded his thanks.

"Don't thank me yet," Sally warned. "Go, and be quick about it!"

He ascended the twisting flight of stairs and emerged into a tower room filled with bolts of fabric, a spinning wheel, and an elaborate sewing machine, behind which a wizened old woman sat, sewing away at a swath of sapphire blue fabric. When John entered, she looked up and paused in her sewing.

"Who's that?" She croaked, her voice quavering and little-used. "Come closer, boy, I can barely see you!"

"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked, stepping further into the room. "I've a note from Sally Donovan."

He handed the note to Mrs. Hudson, who brought it so close to her face her nose almost touched the parchment. Her wrinkled lips moved as she read silently to herself. After a moment, she set the paper down and looked at John with a new light in her eyes.

"Here to save us, are you?" She asked, holding out a gnarled hand. "Let's see the coins?"

John handed over the coins and watched Mrs. Hudson turn them over just as Sally did, until she was satisfied they were authentic. She gave them back to John and nodded, sharply.

"We must get you to Sherlock." She said. "I think the best plan is for you to serve him his dinner. You'll need a kitchen uniform, then."

She rose and shuffled to a rack of uniforms, rifling through until she withdrew one similar to the one Sally wore. "Here, put this on."

John went behind a panel that shielded him from view and changed into the uniform - a simple blue tunic, a brown vest, and darker brown leggings. John finished dressing and returned to Mrs. Hudson. She eyed him up and down and nodded.

"You'll do. Go back to Sally and tell her the plan. Make haste, boy!"

John bit back a smile at being referred to as a "boy" and bid his farewell to Mrs. Hudson. He returned to the kitchen and filled Sally in. She looked nervous, but nodded.

"It's a risk, but I can't think of any better way to get you close to Sherlock. I've almost finished his dinner meal - are you ready?"

John felt it was all moving too fast, but he nodded, squaring his shoulders and putting on bravado that he didn't necessarily have.

Sally loaded up a dinner tray with Sherlock's meal and told John where his room was. She handed him a heavy ring with a key on it. "He's been kept locked in his room most of the time. You'll have to use this to get in. Be quick, whatever you do. The queen has eyes and ears everywhere!"

John handed Sally his pack for safekeeping and took the tray, balancing it as he left the kitchen once more. Sherlock's room was up two flights of stone steps, at the end of a hallway lined with paintings of the queen. As he passed by the paintings, John shuddered. It felt as though the eyes followed him down the hall, though he was sure that was an illusion. Just as he reached the door to Sherlock's room, he nearly tripped over a black cat that darted out in front of him. John cursed loudly and the cat yowled in protest before dashing away. Checking to make sure he hadn't jostled any of the food, John fitted the key in the lock and opened the door, backing in.

"I'm not hungry."

The breath caught in John's throat as he heard Sherlock's voice again. He turned and saw Sherlock lay curled on his bed, his back facing the door. He wore loose trousers made of a filmy material and he still had the chains John had seen in the magic mirror. Sherlock was shirtless and his long, dark curls fell in a riotous cascade over his bare shoulders. His back was tense as he made clear his displeasure at someone entering his room.

John resisted the urge to run to Sherlock's side. Instead, he set the tray carefully on the table near Sherlock's bed and cleared his throat, softly.

"W-william... Sherlock....?" He said, his voice shaking with nerves.

Sherlock's shoulders stiffened and he sat up, whipping around, his eyes wide with shock.

"John?" Sherlock rose to his feet, walking slowly towards John. "No, it's not you? It's an illusion, something she's sent to torment me?"

John shook his head, his voice sticking at the lump in his throat. He felt tears prick the edges of his eyes. "N-no. I'm real, I'm here. I've come to... to fix my mistake."

Sherlock reached out to touch John's face, his eyes growing even wider when he found John to be solid and unchanging. "You're really here? My John?"

John nodded, breaking into a wide grin. He reached out to take Sherlock's hand and the door to the bedroom slammed open. Standing at the threshold was an imperious looking woman in a burgundy caftan-style dress. Her hair was dark and disheveled and her eyes flashed hot like coals in a fire.

"Stop!" She screeched, pointing a finger at John. "Don't you dare touch him!"

Sherlock moved to block the woman from John and she waved her hand, sending a blast of power that knocked Sherlock back on his bed.

"Now, wait just a minute--!" John cried, torn between going to Sherlock and defending himself against the woman.

"You'll not have him, not when I'm so close!" The woman hissed. "He's mine and tomorrow, he will be mine for eternity!"

John, realizing this was the Queen of the Above, bowed his head and ran towards her, hoping to bowl her over before she could do anything. But he was without defense and without the magical items in his bag and her blast of power hit him straight on. He felt a sharp pain in his head and then he was toppling to the floor. As his vision dimmed, he heard Sherlock cry out his name.

***

John woke someplace dim and damp. His head throbbed painfully, but when he lifted his hand to his temple, he found it restrained by a pair of chained cuffs. As his vision cleared, he saw he was in some sort of dank dungeon, chained to the wall. The only source of light was a small slit high above him, near the ceiling. It let in the moonlight and illuminated the dungeon just enough for John to see that there was no discernible exit.

His vision blurred again and he felt a wave of nausea overtake him as he slipped back into unconscious.

***

The next time John woke, it was to an insistent shaking at his shoulder. Sunlight streamed through the window slit near the ceiling.

"Wake up, you useless lump!" Sally hissed, crouching over him, her eyes wide and full of worry.

"Sally?" John's voice sent a fresh throb of pain through his skull. "How'd you get here?"

"I had help," Sally glanced over her shoulder. "Gregory helped get me here. He saw Queen Molly take you. You have to wake up, the wedding is about to start!"

John struggled to sit up, the chains rattling as he moved. Sally held up a key and fitted it into the cuff's locks, freeing his wrists in seconds.

"I brought your pack," she said, holding out John's bag to him. "If you're going to break the curse, time is growing short!"

"How? How do I get to him?" John took the pack and tried to stand, his legs threatening to collapse under his weight.

"Gregory will take you. Come on!" Sally tugged at John's sleeve and led him to a door that blended almost seamlessly into the wall.

When they emerged into daylight, John found a tired-looking man with grey hair waiting for him. He clasped John's hand with his and smiled.

"We've no time for introductions," he said. "I'm expected back in the throne room for the wedding. We must go!"

John allowed himself to be led across the courtyard and into the castle. He heard the strains of music from what he assumed was the throne room and then Gregory ushered him inside. The throne room was decorated elaborately in shades of blue and silver. The room was filled with guests and Sherlock and Queen Molly stood at the front of the room, hands clasped as the wedding vows began.

John swallowed, hard, still trying to clear the fog from his mind. He stumbled away from Gregory and took a few, faltering steps up the aisle.

"No!" He called out, but his cry came out too softly. He took a few more steps and tried again. "NO!"

This time, he was heard and Molly and Sherlock both turned in unison. Sherlock's eyes blazed with hope while Molly's with rage.

"You?" She squawked, dropping Sherlock's hands and marching towards John. "I got rid of you!"

"I'm not that easy to get rid of," John scoffed. "I won't let you do this."

" _Let_ me do this?" Molly laughed. "I'd like to see you stop me!"

Molly lifted her hand to summon a blast of power again, but Sherlock crashed into her, knocking her aside and causing the blast of power to hit a pillar instead. Molly screeched and turned to Sherlock.

"You dare oppose me?" Her hands formed claws and she went for Sherlock's neck. "Me? I am your only friend, Sherlock! I am the only one who's ever cared for you!"

"That's a lie!" John yelled, feeling the rage build in his chest. "You've twisted him until he couldn't see how much he was loved!"

Molly whipped around to John, her face twisted in pure spite. "Loved? Him? Who would love him? When I met him, he was a scrawny slip of a boy who no one wanted!"

"Lies!" John spat out. "Sherlock was loved, _is_ loved, by his family! A-and... by me."

John turned to Sherlock as Molly recoiled from his words. Sherlock watched him, wary. "You are loved, Sherlock. I love you. Your family loves you. You're a good man and you've no need for someone like her."

Sherlock looked away, his eyes filling with tears. "You don't know me, John. Not the real me. I'm not a good man - I never have been."

"I do know you," John insisted. "You showed me kindness in the palace and it was only through my own mistakes that you ended up here. I've learned your story during my trip across the desert and I know only one thing now: I love you. With all my heart."

With a roar of anger, Molly launched herself at John, but he was prepared. He'd seen her from the corner of his eye and he met her charge with a sharp kick that propelled her back. As she rolled to a crouch, her teeth bared and her eyes sparking, John reached into his pack and withdrew the dragonstone. He lifted it to his eye and looked at Molly, seeing a great mass of black tentacles coiling around her.

"I see who you truly are," he said. "You were created from darkness and evil. But you don't have to let that consume you. Let him go - let everyone go - and lift the curse. Please, Molly. Won't you do that? For Sherlock?"

John turned to face Sherlock, the stone still at his eye. He saw Sherlock in his tiger form once again, his heart glowing with love and goodness; it shone so brightly it hurt John to look at it.

"I see who you truly are, too, Sherlock. A good man; the man I love." John dropped the stone at his feet and took a step towards Sherlock.

Molly's scream unleashed a howling wind that whipped around the throne room, causing the wedding guests to cry out and cower in their seat. Her dress split as she transformed into a black-tentacled beast nearly ten feet tall.

"NO!" Molly roared, one tentacle wrapping around Sherlock's waist and pulling him towards her.

John ducked as another tentacle came towards him. He rolled away, fumbling inside his pack for the four elemental containers he'd carried across the desert. As Molly roared and flailed and the guests tried to escape the throne room, John took all four containers and hurled them towards the evil queen.

As each container struck the hard, stone floor, it burst. The waters of Mycroft's bottle surged out and met the fires of Aodhan's forge, steaming and sizzling on contact. Eva's vines curled out, wrapping around Molly's tentacles and pinning her to the floor, while Redbeard's fierce wind whipped them all into a tumultuous whirlwind that surrounded Molly's wriggling form.

John watched as the elements tore her apart, her howls blending with the howls of the wind. The throne room fixtures tore off the wall and flew into the whirlwind. John crouched on the floor, shielding himself from the debris that flew past. Molly's screams faded as the elements battered against her, shrinking her form until the storm consumed her.

As the last of the storm died, the throne room was eerily quiet but for the soft cries and whispers of the guests at the back. John looked up to see Sherlock's still form on the floor. His family - mother, father, brother, and devoted pet - stood around him. Eva clasped a hand to her mouth as she sobbed over Sherlock's lifeless body.

"Sherlock!" John cried, scrambling to his feet and running to Sherlock.

His face was deathly pale and he wasn't breathing. One hand clasped a smooth, black pearl - all that was left of Queen Molly. John pried it from Sherlock's fingers and threw it to the floor, grinding it to dust beneath his heel. Still, Sherlock did not breathe. Eva's sobs grew louder as John knelt at Sherlock's side.

"No, you can't die!" John said, his voice catching in his throat as emotion overtook him. "I've only just found you again. You can't leave me, Sherlock!"

John pressed his lips to Sherlock's cold mouth, his tears falling freely. "I love you, Sherlock. Please don't leave me!"

A warm wind blew, ruffling John's hair, and he felt Sherlock's chest expand with breath. John gasped and sat back, watching as Sherlock's face pinked with life and his eyes fluttered open. Eva's sobs stopped as she, too, gasped.

"John?" Sherlock whispered, reaching a hand towards John.

"It's okay," laughed John, his heart filling with relief. "I'm here and it's okay."

"Did you... did you kiss me?" Sherlock asked, his fingers touching his lips lightly.

"I did," John grinned. "A shame it left so little an impression on you that you have to ask."

A faint smile quirked at Sherlock's lips as he struggled to sit up. Only then did he look around at his family and he let out a soft, surprised "Oh!"

"Son," Aodhan stepped forward, helping Sherlock to his feet. "I'm so proud of you. You've endured so much and you've stayed strong throughout it all."

Sherlock let himself be pulled into his father's embrace. He buried his face in his father's shoulder as Mycroft clapped him on the back.

"I knew I could count on you, brother mine!" Mycroft crowed, brushing away the tears that filled his eyes.

John watched this family reunion for a few moments before turning to give them their privacy. He slipped through the crowd of wedding guests, who were all celebrating their own freedom from the curse. John paused briefly as he caught Sally's eye. He nodded once at her questioning glance and then left the throne room and walked towards the castle door.

He discovered the castle in the sky was no longer. Upon the breaking of the curse, the castle descended to its proper place in the desert, returned to its old splendor from when it was Sherlock's childhood home. The kingdom around it gleamed as though it were new and John knew that, under Aodhan's benevolent rule, the kingdom would once again be great.

John smiled, sadly, glancing back at the castle one last time before he turned towards the city gates and the desert beyond. He hoisted his pack, now lightened without the weight of the four elemental containers, and took the first step of his return journey across the desert.

"John!"

Just as he was about to leave the city, John turned to find Sherlock running towards him.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, looking hurt.

John paused and then shook his head. "You don't need me now, Sherlock. You have your family back... and your kingdom. You're a prince!"

"Are you daft?" 

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock, hands on his waist, pinned John where he stood with a sharp glare. "You thought you'd just walk out and leave me behind because... why? Because you think you're suddenly not good enough for me?"

"You're a prince," John repeated, weakly.

"Yes, and you're a soldier!" Sherlock said. "Now that we've got our labels sorted, can we move on?"

"I don't understand," John said helplessly.

Sherlock reached out and took John's hands in his, pulling him close. "I've always been a prince, John. Since you met me. That changes nothing."

"But your family... and your kingdom...."

"I'm so happy to have my family back," Sherlock agreed. "My father has many years of rule ahead of him and when he is too old to rule, my brother will take his place."

"Your...brother?"

"Yes, the kingdom passes to the oldest son, of course." Sherlock smiled, shyly. "Even if it didn't, I wouldn't accept the crown. I'd give up an entire kingdom to be with you, John Watson."

John's heart thumped, hopeful, in his chest. "You... you would?"

"Indeed," Sherlock's smile widened. "Back there, in the castle. You said you loved me? Is it true?"

John's face reddened and he looked away, swallowing. "Yes," he whispered. "I love you. But it's okay if you don't love me back."

"You really are daft, aren't you?" Sherlock laughed. "John, I've been falling in love with you since you jumped in front of a bullet for me."

"You have?"

Sherlock pressed his palm to John's cheek and looked at him fondly. "How could you not notice? I've been courting you for a year."

John closed his eyes, leaning into Sherlock's palm. "I... I never dared to hope that you might return my feelings. You're brilliant and I'm... I'm ordinary."

"Oh, no!" Sherlock cupped John's face in both his hands. "You could never be ordinary, John! You shine as bright as the sun. You are the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes upon."

"Me?" John watched Sherlock, mesmerized. "No, I'm nothing special."

Sherlock pressed his lips to John's cheeks, and then his forehead, kissing softly. John reached up to tangle his fingers in Sherlock's curls as he hummed in his throat.

"You are more precious to me than my own life," Sherlock whispered, his face close to John's. "I would have given up my life ten times over for you. I love you so much, John."

John found Sherlock's lips and pressed a kiss to them, his hands still buried in Sherlock's curls. He tasted the saltiness of both their tears as they cried in relief and joy. John pulled away, pressing his palm against Sherlock's chest as he prepared his next words.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry for what I did. You could have been imprisoned forever because of my mistake. Can you possibly forgive me and accept my love?"

Sherlock took John's hand and kissed his palm. "There is nothing to forgive, my love. We've both made mistakes, but they are behind us and the curse is broken. I accept your love and I freely offer mine."

John sagged against him in relief, resting his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder. He kissed the pale skin beneath his lips and felt Sherlock chuckle.

"What now?" John asked. "Where do we go from here?"

"If you want to return to your old life, I understand," Sherlock said, cautiously.

John interrupted. "I don't. There's nothing there for me. My sister will be fine without me and there's no one else I care about."

"You're sure?"

"Never been more sure in my life," John insisted.

"Then what would you say to returning to my palace?" Sherlock asked. "Now that the curse is broken, the palace lays just outside the kingdom and it is ours, if you want it. I'll be near my family if I'm needed, but we'll have a life to ourselves, as well. If you want, we can even return to the modern world, on occasion. To your world. You can show me how to move among that world while I can teach you the ways of mine."

"Best of both worlds?" John asked, pulling back and smiling up at Sherlock.

"Indeed," Sherlock smiled. "What do you say?"

"I say... I'd love that. On one condition."

Sherlock's expression became guarded. "And what is this condition?"

"Make me an honest man and marry me?" John asked. "I'd get down on my knees and propose, but I don't have a ring."

Sherlock tossed his head back and laughed, "Yes, John Watson, I will marry you. And I'll see that we both have rings. Shall we go tell my mother she'll have a royal wedding to plan?"

John looked back at the castle and shook his head. "Later. Can we go back to your palace, just the two of us?"

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John. "Of course. What do you want to do at the palace?"

"I want to eat dinner with you," John said. "For the first time, without the blindfold. And then I want to go for a swim."

"And then?"

"And then you'll just have to wait and see." John teased, nudging his shoulder against Sherlock's shoulder.

They left through the city gates and John laughed in delight when the wind swept them up and carried them to Sherlock's palace. Inside, they found dinner already waiting for them.

"Is this place still magical?" John asked. "Even without the curse, will food just appear like this?"

Sherlock nodded. "It will always retain a bit of the old magic. Does that bother you?"

"No, I think it's brilliant!"

Together they dined, feeding each other bites of food and talking softly, until they ate their fill. John led Sherlock to the pool and they swam together, naked, in the warm water. Afterwards, they climbed out of the pool and stretched out under one of the canopies, letting the desert air dry the water from their skin.

John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands as he pressed a kiss to his lover's mouth.

"My beloved," Sherlock murmured between kisses. "Will this life make you happy?"

"I cannot imagine a happier life," John sighed, his lips close to Sherlock's ear. "Than one spent with the man I love."

Sherlock smiled and, as they fell into the rhythm of their love, the sky above darkened with night and the stars winked to life, twinkling and laughing down on them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so our tale comes to an end! I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I'm sure it won't be my last fairy tale, by far! If you liked this work, please consider recommending it to someone else or [checking out my other work](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartswitch/works). You can also finding me over on [Tumblr](http://cleverwholigan.tumblr.com) \- please come and say hello! :) Thank you, again, for reading!


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